CONVICT  B  14 

R.K.WEEKES 


Ih 


CONVICT  B14 


.  W  CAWF.  MWUHY. 


CONVICT  B14 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

R.  K.  WEEKES 


NEW  YORK 

BRENTANO'S 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
BRENTANO'S 


All  rights  reserved 


MADE  IN  U.  S.  A. 


TO 

LffiTITIA  JANE  GARDINER 
WITH  APOLOGIES 


2133517 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACE 

I.  JANUA    VITJE i 

II.  A  LIB  THAT  is  HALF  A  TRUTH     ....  12 

III.  NOCTURNE          19 

IV.  WHEN  FIRST  WE  PRACTICE  TO  DECEIVE  .     .  26 
V.  THE  FLY  ON  THE  WALL 34 

VI.  Sic  TRANSIT 43 

VII.  AUBADE , 50 

VIII.  AMANDUS,  -A,  -UM 61 

IX.  MELODRAMATIC 73 

X.  A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 83 

XL  COSAS  DE  BRUJAS 94 

XII.  ALL  IN  THE  AIR 102 

XIII.  ONE  NAIL  DRIVES  OUT  ANOTHER  .     .     .     .113 

XIV.  A  TWO-EDGED  SWORD 121 

XV.  WANTED 129 

XVI.  COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION 138 

XVII.  A  GREEN  THOUGHT  IN  A  GREEN  SHADE  .     .   147 
XVIII.  WHEN  THE  HEART  SUFFERS  A  BLOW  .      .     .   153 

XIX.  Du  PARTI  DU  GRAND  AIR 161 

XX.  ROUGH  JUSTICE 170 

XXL  HEU  QUAM  MUTATUS 181 

XXII.  BREAD  AND   SALT    .  .   188 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII.  DlEU    DISPOSE 195 

XXIV.  THE  FIRST  ROUND 201 

XXV.  I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE 210 

XXVI.  "  E  " 223 

XXVII.  SHE  BEING  DEAD  YET  SPEAKETH  ....  237 

XXVIII.  DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES 244 

XXIX.  THE  GOOD  HOURS 252 

XXX.  CONFESSIO  AMANTIS 258 

XXXI.  THE  LUCKIEST  GIRL  IN  THE  WORLD  .     .     .  265 
XXXII.  PER  ARDUA  AD  ASTRA 272 

XXXIII.  THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN 281 

XXXIV.  SHE  ALONE  CHARMETH  MY  SADNESS  .     .     .  294 


CONVICT  B14 


CHAPTER  I 
JANUA  VIT;E 

When  men  shall  say,  Peace,  and  all  things  are  safe,  then  shall  sud- 
den destruction  come  upon  them,  as  sorrow  cometh  upon  a  woman 
travailing  with  child,  anl  they  shall  not  escape. 

AT  the  entrance  of  a  green  valley,  where  the  Easedale  beck 
came  down  from  Easedale  Tarn,  scattering  its  silver  tresses 
loose  over  the  rocks  at  Sour  Milk  Gill,  and  hurrying  to 
join  the  Rotha  at  Goody  Bridge,  stood  a  wayside  hos- 
telry: a  spruce  gray  villa,  overflowing  with  flowers  under 
white  and  green  sun-blinds  and  a  glass  piazza.  Not  by  any 
means  a  grand  place,  but  attractive ;  the  hesitating  traveler 
might  guess  that  the  comforts  inside  would  answer  to  the 
trimness  outside,  nor  would  he  be  wrong.  Within  its  limits, 
the  Easedale  Hotel  was  that  rarity,  a  thoroughly  well-run 
English  inn. 

The  proprietor  of  the  place  and  only  begetter  of  its  pros- 
perity was  reposing  on  the  veranda  in  an  easy  attitude,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  eyes  on  the  Grasmere  road. 
Spidering,  he  called  it ;  which  meant  that  he  was  looking 
out  for  possible  guests.  He  liked  to  make  a  play  of  his 
work.  Harry  Gardiner,  the  son  of  a  country  parson,  was 
a  slight  young  man  of  middle  height,  and  very  brown  — 
olive-brown,  sun-brown.  He  did  not  look  wholly  English; 
a  quarter  part  of  Spanish  blood  ran  in  his  veins.  He  had 
dark  eyes  and  a  small  head,  small  hands  and  wiry  muscles, 
small  features  and  a  thin  mouth.  He  was  quick  in  all  he 
thought  and  said  and  did,  shrewd  at  a  bargain,  fond  of 
1 


2  CONVICT  B14. 

money,  but  fonder  still  of  liberty.  After  being  pitchforked 
by  circumstances  into  his  odd  trade,  he  had  stuck  to  it  for 
love  and  made  it  pay ;  he  had  already  progressed  from  a 
humble  fonda  in  the  Canaries  to  a  boarding-house  in  Sydney, 
and  from  the  boarding-house  to  the  Easedale  Hotel.  But 
he  was  a  rolling  stone,  and  would  never  stay  long  enough 
in  any  one  place  to  reap  the  full  fruit  of  his  toil. 

He  turned  at  the  sound  of  a  step  behind  him,  and  his 
eyes  laughed. 

"  Hullo,  Denis !  Got  into  all  your  glad  rags  ?  You'll 
scare  my  people  —  they  aren't  used  to  such  visions." 

"  You'd  not  have  me  sit  down  to  dinner  without  washin' 
my  hands,  would  you  ?  "  inquired  the  new-comer  in  a  voice 
which  his  best  efforts  could  never  rid  of  a  trace  of  soft 
Irish  brogue.  He  was  wearing  ordinary  evening  clothes,  not 
very  new,  but  in  some  subtle  way  he  did  contrive  to  give 
the  impression  of  being  point  device  in  every  detail.  Denis 
Merion-Smith  was  partner  in  an  aeroplane  firm ;  but  he  had 
once  been  in  the  Royal  Engineers,  and  though  it  was  years 
since  he  had  resigned  his  commission,  he  still  carried  his 
handsome  nose  in  the  air  and  looked  down  on  inferior 
mortals  through  a  single  eyeglass. 

Gardiner  laughed.  "Why  not?  My  crowd  mostly  do. 
But  we're  going  up  in  the  social  scale.  I  began  with 
travelers,  I  went  on  to  artists,  I've  attained  the  Church,  and 
I  live  in  hopes  of  even  rising  to  the  army  some  day.  You 
didn't  happen  to  look  into  the  dining-room  on  your  way 
down?  " 

"  I  did  not." 

"  I  wasn't  suggesting  that  you  were  nosing  out  the  dinner," 
Gardiner  explained.  "  I  thought  you  might  have  noticed 
the  flowers.  They're  rather  special.  I  did  'em  myself. 
That's  the  way  to  work  it.  Ginger  up  the  servants  all 
round,  and  add  flowers  to  choice.  Sweet-peas  I  recommend 
for  the  table,  blue  lobelia  and  pink  geranium  for  window- 
boxes.  The  English  tourist  can't  resist  window-boxes.  I 
could  write  the  innkeeper's  vademecun.  It's  a  great  game." 

"  I  can't  think  how  you  do  it !  "  said  Denis  in  disgust. 


JANUA  VIT.E  3 

"  I  can't  think  how  you  ever  took  it  on !  Kotowing  to  all 
these  beastly  people  and  licking  their  boots  — " 

"  No,  no.  The  boy  does  that  —  spits  on  them,  anyhow. 
We  can't  all  be  in  the  Sappers,  Denis."  Denis  snorted. 
"  My  trade  suits  me  all  right,  though  it  wouldn't  you,"  said 
Gardiner  more  seriously.  "  I  like  it,  you  know  I  like  tak- 
ing over  a  disreputable  pigsty  of  a  place  like  this  was,  and 
turning  it  out  in  a  couple  of  years  blooming  like  the  rose. 
This  Easedale's  quite  a  decent  little  pub  now.  I  shall  be 
half  sorry  to  leave  it." 

Denis  paused,  with  a  lighted  match  in  his  hand.  "  You're 
never  thinking  of  givin'  it  up?  " 

"  I've  already  done  so." 

"  You've  given  up  the  Easedale  ?  " 

"  A  si  es,  senor.  The  place  is  sold,  and  I  clear  out  in  Octo- 
ber." 

"  Well !  "  said  Denis,  after  a  vain  struggle  with  the  house- 
holder's distrust  of  the  nomad,  "you  know  your  own 
business,  I  suppose;  but  I  should  have  thought  this 
was  good  enough  for  you.  Are  you  never  goin'  to  settle 
down  ?  " 

"  You're  so  beastly  impatient !  "  said  Gardiner,  with  a 
laugh.  He  waited  to  light  a  cigarette,  cherishing  it  between 
his  palms,  and  then  jerking  the  match  with  a  quick  gesture 
across  the  road.  "  I've  been  searching  for  my  ideal ;  you 
wouldn't  have  me  hurry  over  that,  would  you?  I've  tried 
the  Canaries,  and  I've  tried  Austrylier,  and  I've  tried  Eng- 
land, and  they're  all  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.  But  I 
think  I've  got  the  real  thing  at  last." 

"Where?" 

"On  the  Semois.  You  never  heard  of  it?  Quite.  No- 
body has.  The  Semois  is  a  river,  a  ravishing  river  who  ties 
herself  into  complicated  knots  round  forest-covered  moun- 
tains. On  the  map  she  looks  like  a  bedivvled  corkscrew. 
/  don't  know  where  the  charm  lies  —  I've  seen  fifty  places 
more  conventionally  beautiful,  but  I  tell  you,  Denis,  I've  got 
that  river  in  my  bones!  Figure  to  yourself  a  young  moun- 
tain, with  the  river  plumb  before  it,  in  a  gorge.  You  look 


4  CONVICT  B14 

down  into  that  gorge,  and  beyond  it  over  the  tops  of  hills  and 
hills  and  hills,  range  behind  range,  getting  bluer,  and  dim- 
mer, and  blurrier,  till  they're  a  mere  wash  of  cobalt  against 
the  sky  — " 

"  Hills  — !  "  said  Denis.  "  I've  asked  you :  where  is  this 
place  ?  " 

"  The  Ardennes.  Belgian  Luxemburg.  Close  to  the 
French  frontier  and  twenty  miles  from  Sedan." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  know  your  own  business  best," 
said  Denis  for  the  second  time  —  it  was  plain  he  supposed 
nothing  of  the  kind  — "  but  I'd  not  settle  there  if  you  paid 
me." 

"Why  on  earth  not?  Oh  ah,  of  course!  the  German 
menace,  isn't  it?  Well,  if  they  come,  I  shall  suffer  with  my 
adopted  country,  that's  all." 

"  If  you'd  spent  a  year  in  Germany,  as  I  have,  and  seen 
what  I  did,  you'd  not  laugh,"  said  Denis,  patiently  and 
obstinately.  The  German  danger  was  one  of  his  hobbies. 
It  was  surprising  that,  with  so  many  hoary  prejudices,  he 
should  ever  have  taken  up  with  a  new-fangled  science  like 
aeronautics ;  but  who  is  consistent  ? 

"  I'm  not  laughing,  my  dear  chap.  You  know  more 
about  it  than  I  do,  and  if  you  say  it's  on  the  cards  I  believe 
you.  But  they're  not  coming  to-day,  are  they?  and  manana 
es  otro  dia.  Meanwhile  I  go  ahead  with  my  Bellevue 
(that's  to  be  the  name  of  it:  beautifully  banal,  what?)  and 
trust  to  luck.  It  hasn't  served  me  badly  so  far.  Besides, 
I  don't  stand  to  lose  much.  I  like  money  all  right,  but  I'm 
not  a  slave  to  that  or  anything  else.  If  I  lose  every  penny 
to-morrow  I  shouldn't  put  myself  about  —  except  for  daddy's 
sake ;  and  after  all  he's  not  actually  dependent  on  me,  I 
only  supply  the  amenities.  Yes ;  bar  accidents,  I  can  pretty 
well  defy  Fate." 

He  stretched  himself  complacently,  as  if  rejoicing  in  his 
freedom.  Denis  preserved  silence. 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  say  a  thing  like  that?"  asked 
Gardiner,  looking  at  him  curiously. 

"  I  would  not." 


JANUA  VIT^E  5 

"  Irishman !  " 

"  I  hate  boastin',"  said  Denis  shortly. 

"  I  thought  you  believed  in  an  overruling  Providence, 
which  orders  everything  for  us  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave  ?  " 

"  It's  not  incompatible.  And  I  wish  you'd  settle  down," 
said  Denis,  who  was  a  person  of  few  and  simple  ideas. 

"  Well,  if  you're  good  perhaps  I  will." 

"  But  not  in  Belgium,  Harry !  Belgium's  such  a  rotten 
hole.  And  the  people  are  half  dagoes.  Why  can't  you  be 
content  with  England? " 

Gardiner  laughed.  "  Because  I  ain't  English,  old  son  — 
nor  Irish  neither.  I'm  a  bit  of  a  dago  myself,  for  that 
matter.  B'  the  powers,  here's  a  car  coming !  You  sit  tight 
now,  and  see  me  do  the  fascinating  landlord." 

The  car,  an  expensive  touring  model,  drew  up  at  the  gate. 
The  driver  was  a  big  man  with  dark  gray  eyes,  regular 
features  and  a  dark  mustache.  It  was  a  handsome  head, 
but  not  wholly  pleasant ;  in  the  accepted  phrase,  he  had 
evidently  lived  hard.  Denis  with  unerring  fastidiousness 
put  him  down  as  a  bounder.  Beside  him  sat  a  lady,  muffled 
up  in  a  long  dust-cloak  and  a  veil,  and  there  was  a  maid 
behind. 

"  How  far  on  is  it  to  Keswick?"  asked  the  driver,  lean- 
ing out  to  address  Gardiner  with  careless  incivility. 

"  Nine  miles." 

"  Nine,  eh?  Are  you  the  proprietor  of  this  place?"  He 
looked  the  young  man  up  and  down  with  cursory  interest. 
"  Well,  we  may  want  rooms  for  the  night.  Can  you  do 
us?" 

"  The  house  is  rather  full,  but  I  can  show  you  what  I 
have." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Dot  ?  We  can't  get  on  to  Keswick 
to-night  on  this  confounded  tire.  Might  as  well  stop,  do 
you  think?  Of  course  it's  a  wretched  little  hole,  but  we 
haven't  much  choice."  The  aside  was  wholly  audible  both 
to  Gardiner  and  to  Denis. 

"  I  don't  care,  provided  it's  clean,"  said  the  girl.     Her 


6  CONVICT  B14 

features  were  invisible  behind  her  veil,  but  the  voice  sounded 
young. 

"  What  ?  Oh  yes,  I  should  say  it's  fairly  clean.  Yes, 
we'll  stay,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  owner  of  the  fairly 
clean  hotel.  "  No,  never  mind  the  rooms,  we'll  have  dinner 
at  once.  Here,  and  send  some  one  round  to  see  after  my 
car,  will  you?  That  tire's  punctured." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Gardiner,  standing  aside  for  the 
lady  to  pass  in.  Her  husband  followed,  and  they  were  lost 
to  view.  Denis  remained  fuming  on  the  veranda.  It  was 
one  thing  to  put  on  airs  himself,  another  to  see  them  on 
somebody  else.  Besides,  Denis  was  always  scrupulously 
courteous  to  inferiors;  he  considered  it  bad  form  to  hit  a 
man  who  was  debarred  from  hitting  back.  He  hoped  the 
new-comers  would  not  stay;  but  time  passed,  and  nobody 
appeared  except  a  man  to  take  the  Rolls-Royce  to  the  garage ; 
and  presently  the  gong  sounded,  and  Denis  went  in. 

At  the  back  of  the  hotel  two  wings  jutted  out  from  the 
main  block,  forming  three  sides  of  a  quadrangle;  and  in 
the  right  wing,  just  at  the  corner,  Gardiner  had  his  den. 
It  looked,  of  course,  directly  across  the  garden  into  the 
windows  opposite,  but  the  house  did  not  shut  out  all  the 
view.  Sitting  sideways,  one  could  see  the  broad  green  vale 
running  westwards  and  narrowing  swiftly  to  a  gorge,  down 
which  the  stream  tumbled,  white  as  milk.  Dark  gray  the 
hills  were,  slate-gray,  almost  purple,  with  emerald  verdure 
worn  thin  in  places  and  showing  the  naked  rock  —  Helm 
Crag,  Seat  Sandal,  Dollywagon  Pike,  St.  Sunday  Crag, 
Silver  How,  what  names  of  romance !  A  sweet  and  pleasant 
scene,  in  this  summer  twilight ;  mists  upstealing  along  the 
brook,  and  a  half-transparent  moon  sharpening  into  silver 
as  she  sank  into  the  lemon-colored  west.  When  the  sounds 
of  the  house  for  a  moment  lulled,  one  could  hear  the  murmur 
of  the  cascade  which  seemed  to  hang  motionless  against  the 
rock,  flattened  out  like  a  skein  of  white  wool. 

The  room  was  small;  it  had  a  big  window  in  the  left 
wall,  a  fireplace  opposite,  and  a  table  between,  on  which 
stood  a  packing-case  in  a  litter  of  straw.  Gardiner  had 


JANUA  VIT.E  7 

been  opening  a  case  of  whisky  for  Denis,  who  liked  to  fancy 
himself  a  connoisseur. 

"  Do  you  trot  round  after  everybiddy  as  you  did  with 
those  people  to-night  ? "  he  asked  gloomily.  Dinner  had 
passed  since  the  scene  on  the  terrace,  but  it  had  not  buried 
his  resentment. 

"  Not  as  a  rule  I  don't.  Miss  Marvin,  my  housekeeper, 
who's  a  real  treasure,  she's  supposed  to  see  to  visitors.  But 
I  do  it  when  I  want  to.  Is  it  the  Trents  rankling  still/?  I 
rather  enjoyed  them." 

"  Is  his  name  Trent?  " 

"His  name  is  Trent.  Major  Trent,  D.S.O.,  and  wife, 
of  Thurlow  Park,  Surrey ;  he  inscribed  it  in  the  visitors' 
book.  That's  him  you  hear  overhead;  they  dined  upstairs. 
I've  had  to  put  them  in  the  old  part  of  the  house,  every 
other  corner  is  full.  I  don't  know  what'll  happen  when  he 
sees  his  bedroom." 

"  A  line  regiment,  of  course,"  said  Denis,  gloomily  scorn- 
ful. "  No  decent  corps  would  stand  him.  I  wish  you'd 
kick  him  out." 

"  That,  my  young  friend,  is  not  the  spirit  in  which  one 
runs  a  successful  hotel.  Do  you  know  he's  paying  me  up- 
wards of  three  guineas  a  day?  Besides,  he  didn't  mean  to 
be  rude,  he  was  simply  talking  over  my  head.  What  am  I 
to  him?  The  landlord  of  a  third-rate  inn.  I'd  give  myself 
airs  too  if  I  had  a  place  in  Surrey  and  a  1912  Rolls- 
Royce." 

"  Insufferable  bounder !  "  said  Denis.     Gardiner  laughed. 

"  No,  no ;  that  he's  not.  Rather  a  fine  head  —  a  good 
man  gone  wrong.  Oddly  enough,  I  believe  Tom  knew  him 
in  India.  If  it's  the  same  man,  he  got  his  D.S.O.  in  South 
Africa,  a  very  gallant  piece  of  work,  and  then  had  to  send 
in  his  papers  because  of  some  row  about  a  woman  —  a  sub- 
altern's wife,  to  make  things  pleasant  all  round.  Tom  rather 
liked  him,  bar  his  little  weakness  for  the  sex.  But  he  must 
have  come  into  money  since  —  through  his  wife,  I  wouldn't 
mind  betting,  and  that's  why  he's  so  civil  to  her.  For  he's 
the  sort  who's  usually  more  civil  to  other  people's  wives." 


8  CONVICT  B14 

"  I  can't  think  how  you  can  bring  yourself  to  speak  to 
him ! "  said  Denis.  He  was  one  of  those  who  find  it  hard 
to  understand  how  others  can  act  differently  from  them- 
selves. Gardiner  laughed  more  than  ever. 

"  We  can't  all  be  idealists,  my  good  Denis.  I've  my  bread 
and  butter  to  earn.  I  had  all  my  fine  feelings  knocked  out 
of  me  long  ago.  Yes,  Miss  Marvin,  what  is  it?  " 

Miss  Marvin,  a  comely,  capable  woman  of  forty,  seemed 
a  little  flustered. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  sir,  but  it's  the  gentleman  in 
No.  18.  He's  been  at  me  about  his  room,  and  I  think  " — 
her  voice  dropped  — "  I  think  he  isn't  quite  himself.  If  you 
wouldn't  mind  speaking  to  him  — " 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  putting  me  to  sleep  in 
a  hay-loft?" 

Miss  Marvin  jumped,  for  the  gentleman  from  No.  18 
had  followed  uninvited  and  was  talking  over  her  shoulder. 
He  stretched  an  arm  across  the  door  to  bar  her  escape. 
"  No,  you  don't.  I  don't  know  which  of  you  two  is  re- 
sponsible here,  but  I  am  going  to  have  an  answer  out  of 
somebody.  I  pay  a  decent  price,  I  expect  a  decent  room, 
and  you  put  me  in  a  garret  that  stinks  like  a  rabbit  hutch, 
and  nearly  brains  me  if  I  walk  across  the  floor!  Why,  I 
wouldn't  put  a  nigger  to  sleep  in  such  a  hole !  What  do 
you  mean  by  it,  I  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  One  moment,"  said  Gardiner.  "  Miss  Marvin,  may  I 
trouble  you  for  that  register?  Thanks.  Here  we  are.  I 
had  to  give  you  No.  18  because  it  was  absolutely  the  last 
unoccupied  room  in  the  house.  If  you  look,  you  can  see 
for  yourself  that  I'm  speaking  the  truth." 

A  little  checked,  Trent  bent  his  handsome  head  over  the 
page.  He  was  not  drunk ;  but  he  had  been  drinking. 
Gardiner,  sitting  by  the  window  on  the  far  side  of  the 
table,  leaned  across,  pointing  out  the  entries  with  a  small, 
brown,  well-kept  forefinger. 

"  These  are  my  best  rooms.  They're  occupied  now  by 
a  Leeds  fishmonger,  but  I  can't  very  well  turn  him  out  for 
that.  If  I'd  known  you  were  coming  —  but  as  it  was  I 


JANUA  VIT^E  9 

simply  had  to  put  you  where  I  could.     There's  not  a  corner 
anywhere  else." 

"  The  place  stinks,"  said  Trent. 

"  Of  apples.     My  predecessor  used  to  store  them  there." 
"  Well,  you  should  have  warned  me,  then." 
"  I  did,"  said  Gardiner.     "  If  you  remember,  I  told  you  I 
was   full,  and  wanted  to  show  you  the  rooms,  and  you 
declined." 

"  That's  right  enough,"  said  Trent.  He  swept  up  his 
thick,  dark  lashes  and  looked  steadily  at  Gardiner,  summing 
him  up.  Traveling  on,  his  eyes  met  and  fixed  on  a  photo- 
graph that  hung  on  the  wall.  "  Hullo,  I  know  that  face," 
he  said  in  a  totally  different  tone,  getting  up  and  going 
towards  it. 

"  My  brother,"  said  Gardiner. 

"  Your  brother  ?  Tom  Gardiner  of  the  Sappers  is  your 
brother?  Why  the  deuce  couldn't  you  say  so  before? 
Here,  my  good  woman  — "  He  held  out  half-a-crown  to 
Miss  Marvin,  who  nearly  dropped  it  in  her  indignation,  and 
was  only  restrained  by  an  imperative  sign  from  Gardiner 
which  sent  her  out  of  the  room.  "  Mhow :  yes,  I  was 
actually  with  him  when  this  was  taken,"  Trent  continued, 
with  the  frame  in  his  hand.  "  I  used  to  see  a  lot  of  him  in 
those  days.  Nice  youngster ;  only  a  mania  for  church- 
goin',  and  couldn't  or  wouldn't  play  bridge.  And  so  you're 
his  brother!  What  on  earth  do  you  want  to  keep  a  pot- 
house for  ?  " 

"  It's  a  way  of  earning  your  living,  like  another." 
*'  Leads  to  misunderstandings,  though.     Didn't  he   ever 
mention  me  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  couldn't  be  sure  you  were  the  same  man." 
"  Well,  I  wouldn't  say  I  am ;  times  have  changed  since 
then,"  said  Trent.  He  replaced  the  frame  and  established 
himself  on  the  rug,  squaring  his  broad  shoulders  against  the 
mantelpiece,  apparently  settling  down  for  a  comfortable 
gossip.  "  I  was  a  bit  of  a  fire-eater  in  those  days.  I  re- 
member one  time  we  were  out  riding  — " 

The  tale  he  told  was  one  of  those  which  modest  men  leave 


10  CONVICT  B14. 

their  friends  to  tell  for  them.  It  seemed  to  concern  him 
no  more  than  a  casual  newspaper  paragraph  about  a  casual 
stranger.  "  I  couldn't  do  that  now,  you  know,"  was  his 
comment.  He  had  quite  forgotten  his  anger;  indeed,  he 
seemed  to  have  worn  out  all  power  of  sustained  feeling, 
to  be  without  shame  as  without  vanity.  He  rambled  on 
from  story  to  story;  presently  he  was  pouring  into  their 
ears  the  tale  of  the  scandal  that  had  led  to  his  retirement. 
Out  it  all  came,  in  a  curious  mixture  of  indifference  and 
maudlin  self-pity.  "  That  was  the  end  of  me,"  he  said, 
staring  at  Gardiner  with  hazy,  apathetic  eyes.  "  I  wasn't 
a  bad  sort  of  feller  before  —  did  one  or  two  things  a  man 
might  be  proud  of ;  but  it  was  all  up  when  I  had  to  leave 
the  old  regiment.  And  just  for  the  sake  of  a  little  devil 
who  didn't  care  a  rap  about  me  —  not  a  rap,  I  swear  she 
didn't !  Yes  !  it's  the  women  who've  been  my  ruin." 

It  was  a  melancholy  exhibition.  One  might  gather  that 
he  still  presented  a  decent  front  to  the  world ;  whisky  had 
loosened  his  tongue  to-night,  making  him  a  traitor  to 
himself,  but  he  did  not  habitually  drink.  He  said  so,  with 
unblushing  candor.  "  It  wasn't  wine  with  me,  you  know ; 
that  was  never  my  vice."  He  was,  as  Gardiner  said,  a  good 
man  gone  wrong ;  but  he  had  gone  very  far  wrong.  There 
was  something  cruel  in  the  way  the  young  man  led  him  on 
to  expose  himself.  Charity  would  have  covered  his  sins, 
but  cynicism  drew  them  all  out  to  look  at.  Denis's  instincts 
were  more  healthy. 

"  Why  don't  you  kick  him  out  ? "  he  said  in  an  angry 
whisper. 

"  I'm  not  done  with  him  yet.     He  amuses  me." 

"  He  makes  me  sick.  It's  beastly,  Harry !  You've  no 
business  to  do  it !  " 

"  Think  not  ?  Now,  he  strikes  me  as  fair  game,"  said 
Gardiner,  contemplating  his  guest  with  a  complete  absence 
of  pity. 

"  He's  drinking  himself  drunk  on  your  whisky,  and  that 
girl  waiting  for  him  upstairs!  If  you  don't  think  of  him, 
you  might  of  her !  " 


JANUA  VIT.E  11 

"  True.  I'd  forgotten  his  wife,"  said  Gardiner.  He  drew 
the  decanter  over  to  his  side  of  the  table  and  looked  up, 
ready  to  break  in.  Unluckily  Trent  had  caught  the  last 
word,  and  it  started  him  off  on  a  new  tack. 

"Neither  of  you  young  chaps  married?  Lucky  dogs! 
you've  the  chances!  I  knew  a  little  girl  in  Chatham 
once  — " 

Gardiner  had  kept  his  friend  just  a  few  minutes  too 
long.  He  had  now  found  his  peculiar  vein,  and  he  grew 
eloquent.  Denis  had  a  clean  life  behind  him,  and  a  clean 
mind ;  Gardiner  felt  rather  than  saw  him  stirring  in  his 
chair,  and  held  up  a  hand  to  keep  him  quiet.  He  himself 
was  less  fastidious,  but  even  he  did  not  much  like  what  he 
had  called  up.  There  are  things  a  man  may  say,  and 
others  he  may  not,  and  it  was  these  last  that  Trent  said. 
He  was  morally  rotten.  Still,  Gardiner  did  not  want  a  row. 

"  Funny  tale,  very,"  he  said,  when  Trent  had  finished 
with  the  little  girl  at  Chatham.  "  And  now,  I  don't  want 
to  hurry  you,  but  isn't  it  getting  rather  late?  I'm  afraid 
we  shall  be  keeping  Mrs.  Trent  up." 

"My  wife?"  said  Trent.  He  had  just  come  to  the 
table  to  fill  up  his  glass  from  the  decanter  which  Gardiner 
was  keeping  under  his  hand.  Looking  up  with  a  smile,  he 
added  another  sentence.  Simultaneously,  Denis  sprang  to 
his  feet,  the  blood  rushing  into  his  face,  and  Gardiner  caught 
up  the  first  thing  that  came  to  his  hand  —  the  chisel  that 
had  opened  the  packing-case  —  and  flung  it  at  the  speaker's 
head. 

"  Get  out,  you  filthy  swine  !  " 

It  took  him  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead,  and  knocked 
him  over.  He  fell  without  an  effort  to  save  himself,  flat 
on  the  whole  length  of  his  back  with  his  head  in  the  fender. 
There  he  lay.  Denis  raised  the  lamp  on  high;  Gardiner 
stooped  over  him  —  and  recoiled. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  he  said,  "  the  man's  dead !  " 


CHAPTER  II 
A  LIE  THAT  IS  HALF  A  TRUTH 

I  have  slain  a  man  to  my  wounding,  and  a  young  man  to  my  hurt. 

GENESIS. 

TRENT  lay  as  he  had  fallen,  with  his  head  on  the  fender, 
in  a  pool  of  blood  which  slowly  enlarged  itself  and  sopped 
into  the  carpet.  The  sharp  edge  had  fractured  his  skull. 
He  was  stone  dead,  beyond  possibility  of  doubt,  yet  both 
men  by  a  common  instinct  knelt  down  and  tried  to  loosen 
his  collar.  The  heavy  head  tumbled  sideways,  against 
Denis's  arm.  He  sprang  up  and  retreated,  with  a  violent 
shudder. 

"  Poor  beggar !  Poor  beggar !  "  said  Gardiner  under 
his  breath.  "I  never  saw  anything  so  ghastly  in  my  life! 
This  thing's  like  a  razor."  He  ran  his  finger  down  the 
edge  of  the  fender.  "  Good  Lord !  what  an  appalling  busi- 
ness !  Well,  I  suppose  the  first  thing  is  to  have  in  the 
doctor ;  he  can't  do  any  good,  of  course,  but  still  — 
Luckily  there's  one  actually  staying  in  the  house.  Ring 
the  bell,  do  you  mind,  Denis?  Or,  wait  a  bit,  I  don't 
want  the  maids  poking  round ;  I'll  go  myself." 

He  was  half-way  to  the  door  when  Denis  seized  his  arm. 

"  Stop  a  minute,  Harry.     Think." 

"  What's  the  use  of  waiting?     May  as  well  get  it  over !  " 

'*  No ;  bui  think  —  think !  Can't  you  see  what  this 
means?" 

His  agitation  was  contagious.  "  I  can  see  it's  going  to 
be  very  awkward  with  the  house  full  of  visitors,  but  it's 
not  the  time  to  think  of  that,  is  it?  What  the  devil  are 
you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  You  killed  him,"  said  Denis  baldly. 
12 


A  LIE  THAT  IS  HALF  A  TRUTH  13 

"  I  did  not !  " 

"  You  did.  It's  manslaughter,  if  not  murder.  It  might 
mean  hanging,  and  it'll  pretty  certainly  mean  prison." 

"  Prison !  " 

Every  trace  of  color  went  out  of  Gardiner's  face.  In 
the  momentary  pause  some  one  tapped  at  the  door. 

Gardiner  wrenched  himself  free,  and  Denis  sprang  to 
shut  out  the  intruder;  but  he  was  too  late.  The  door, 
left  unlatched  by  Miss  Marvin,  slid  open  at  a  touch.  There 
stood  Mrs.  Trent,  in  her  long  muffling  cloak  and  veil ;  she 
had  come  in  quest  of  her  husband. 

Denis  tried  ineffectually  to  block  out  the  view  of  the 
room,  the  lamp  on  the  floor,  the  dead  man,  and  Gardiner. 

"  You  —  you  mustn't  come  in,  Mrs.  Trent.  Your  hus- 
band's had  a  sort  of  seizure  — " 

She  said  nothing,  only  plucked  at  his  arm,  struggling 
against  it,  her  eyes,  her  whole  being  concentrated  on  the 
figure  on  the  floor.  Suddenly  diving  under  the  barrier,  she 
fled  to  his  side  and  sank  down,  a  mere  swirl  of  draperies. 
Denis,  distracted,  stooped  over  her.  "  Don't  —  don't !  "  he 
said.  "  Let  us  fetch  a  doctor  —  perhaps  he's  only 
fainted  — " 

"  Fainted !  "  She  raised  her  tragic  little  head ;  her  eyes, 
ranging  round  the  room,  met  and  fixed  on  Gardiner.  "  He's 
been  murdered !  "  she  cried  out.  "  Murdered  —  and  you 
did  it,  you  !  " 

The  imaginative  man  is  at  the  mercy  of  his  nerves ; 
there  is  always  an  unsound  link  in  his  courage,  liable  to 
snap  at  any  unexpected  strain.  It  is  a  question  of  sheer 
luck  whether  he  finds  out  his  weakness  and  is  able  to  take 
precautions  beforehand.  The  unimaginative  man  never 
understands  this.  To  Denis's  infinite  dismay,  Gardiner 
simply  backed  into  the  corner,  throwing  up  his  arm  as  if 
to  ward  a  blow.  Denis  himself  cried  out  the  first  denial 
that  rose  to  his  lips. 

"  Mrs.  Trent,  it  was  an  accident,  I  give  you  my  word  it 
was !  " 

"  It  was  murder,"  she  contradicted   swiftly,  her  young 


14,  CONVICT  B14 

voice  gathering  depth  and  force,  scorn  and  anguish,  her 
outstretched  finger  quivering.  "He  did  it,  he  killed  him, 
I  read  it  in  his  eyes.  Oh,  he  was  all  I  had  in  the  world, 
and  you've  taken  him  away !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  —  what 
shall  I  do?" 

"  Harry !     Say  something  —  tell  her  it's  a  mistake !  " 

"  He  can't !  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Look,  look  at  him  cowering 
there !  Murderer !  He  daren't  face  me  —  he  can't  deny 
it!" 

Less  of  his  own  will  than  because  Denis's  hands  were 
on  his  shoulders,  Gardiner  slowly  turned.  He  looked 
hang-dog.  "  I  didn't  do  it !  "  he  muttered,  his  eyes  on  the 
ground.  "  You  heard  what  my  friend  said  —  it  was  an 
accident ! "  And  then  more  loudly,  gaining  confidence : 
"  I  swear  I  never  laid  a  finger  on  him  —  did  I,  Denis  ?  I 
would  have  said  so  before  —  I  would  have  explained  at 
once,  if  I'd  taken  in  what  you  were  saying." 

"  You  didn't  lay  a  finger  on  him?"  Mrs.  Trent  laughed 
out,  a  queer  high  note  of  triumph.  "  Ah  —  but  you  killed 
him  all  the  same!  I  know!  I  can  prove  it!  What  I 
have  here  —  Besides,  look,  look  at  his  darling  face  — 
Oh,  Guy !  "  The  name  broke  from  her  in  a  great  tremulous 
convulsive  sob.  She  put  out  her  hands  blindly,  clutching 
the  edge  of  the  table.  "  Oh,  what  is  it  ?  Oh,  oh,  it  hurts ! 
—  I'm  frightened  —  Louisa !  " 

"  Great  heavens !     Ring  the  bell,  Denis  —  quick !  " 

Denis  nearly  brought  down  the  bell-rope.  The  next 
minutes  were  all  confusion.  People  gathered  like  flies: 
the  boots,  Miss  Marvin,  half-a-dozen  frightened  servants, 
at  last  Mrs.  Trent's  elderly  maid.  She  threw  up  her  hands 
in  horror,  but  she  wasted  no  time  on  the  dead  man ;  her 
concern  was  all  for  her  mistress.  "  Come  away,  Miss  Dot 
dear,  come !  Tain't  fit  for  you  here !  "  The  girl,  shaken 
now  by  terrifying  sobs,  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away ;  their 
steps  died  out  down  the  passage. 

Meanwhile  the  doctor  had  arrived,  a  brusque  and  dapper 
little  man,  hastily  fetched  in  from  the  terrace.  Gardiner, 
who  was  everywhere  at  once,  arranging  everything,  cleared 


A  LIE  THAT  IS  HALF  A  TRUTH  15 

the  room  for  him  to  make  his  examination,  leaving  only 
Denis,  Miss  Marvin,  and  himself. 

"  Fracture  of  the  base  of  the  skull.  No,  I  couldn't  have 
done  anything  even  if  I'd  been  on  the  spot ;  must  have  been 
practically  instantaneous.  Slipped,  you  say,  did  he? 
H'm !  "  He  bent  to  sniff  at  the  dead  man's  lips.  "  Where 
was  he  standing  ?  " 

Gardiner  reconstructed  the  scene,  exact  in  every  detail 
save  one.  "  He  came  across  to  the  table,  to  fill  his  glass, 
I  suppose,  and  seemed  to  lose  his  balance  —  his  feet  flew 
up  in  the  air.  We  didn't  think  anything  of  it,  did  we, 
Denis?  It  was  the  most  ordinary  tumble." 

"  Didn't  strike  against  anything  in  falling,  did  he  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  went  flat  on  his  back,  as  you  do  on  a  slide." 

"  Sure  ?    Well,  how  do  you  account  for  that,  then  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  a  tiny  star  of  blood  on  the  dead  man's 
forehead.  Gardiner  looked  as  he  felt,  nonplussed. 

"  I  can't  account  for  it." 

"  You  can't,  hey?     Your  friend,  then  —  he  any  idea?  " 

"  No,"  said  Denis  from  the  window,  without  turning 
round.  There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause. 

"  What's  all  this  mess  of  glass  about  ? "  asked  Miss 
Marvin,  who  was  listening  with  all  her  intelligent  ears. 

"I  don't  know  —  yes,  I  do,  though;  Major  Trent  had' 
been  having  a  whisky  and  soda,  and  dropped  the  tumbler  as 
he  fell.  I  remember  hearing  it  smash." 

"  There  you  are,  then,  sir.  A  bit  flew  up  and  hit  him. 
There's  nothing  cuts  worse  than  broken  glass,  and  the 
splinters  they'll  fly  anywhere,  they're  that  light  and  frivolous 
things.  Why,  I've  nearly  had  my  own  eye  out,  falling  up 
the  pantry  steps  with  a  tray  in  my  arms !  That's  what  done 
it,  you  may  depend." 

Thus  Miss  Marvin,  practical  and  positive.  Little  Dr. 
Scott  nodded  assent. 

"  H'm,  yes;  might  have  been  that.  The  fellow  was  half 
tipsy,  of  course.  No  need  to  tell  his  wife  so,  but  he  smells 
like  a  pot-house.  She  seems  to  take  it  pretty  queerly,  by 
the  way,  from  the  glimpse  I  had  of  her,"  he  added,  bending 


16  CONVICT  B14. 

his  bright  and  piercing  eyes  on  Gardiner.  "  Has  a  special 
grudge  against  you,  hey  ?  " 

"  She  accused  me  downright  of  murdering  him  at  first," 
said  the  young  man  soberly.  "  Heaven  knows  why,  for 
I'd  never  set  eyes  on  either  of  them  before.  I  hope  she 
won't  keep  it  up;  it's  rather  a  serious  thing  to  have  laid 
to  one's  charge.  But  I  suppose  I'd  better  take  no  notice ; 
women  in  her  state  of  health  often  take  queer  fancies  into 
their  heads,  don't  they?" 

"Hey?  Is  that  so?  Poor  child,  poor  child!  I  hope 
we  shan't  have  any  further  trouble  with  her.  It's  a  bad 
piece  of  work  altogether,"  he  added,  getting  up  and  dusting 
his  knees.  "  You  know,  of  course,  that  the  body  mustn't 
be  moved  till  the  police  have  seen  it.  You've  sent  for  them, 
I  suppose?" 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  You  haven't  ?  What  are  you  staring  for  ?  Have  to 
be  an  inquest,  won't  there?  Can't  give  the  certificate  with- 
out it,  can  I?"  snapped  the  little  man;  and  then,  lowering 
his  voice  out  of  respect  for  the  dead :  "  You  and  your 
long-legged  friend  over  there,  who  looks  as  if  he'd  be  the 
better  for  a  nip  of  sal  volatile,  you'll  have  to  give  evidence. 
Any  one  would  think  you'd  never  heard  of  an  inquest 
before!" 

"  Of  course.  I  was  an  ass  not  to  think  of  it,  but  you 
see  it's  awkward  for  me,  with  the  house  full  of  people. 
However,  that  can't  be  helped.  I'll  telephone  at  once. 
Yes,  what  is  it?" 

Mrs.  Trent's  maid,  at  the  door,  had  a  very  grave  face. 

"  Can  the  doctor  please  come  at  once,  sir  ?  My  mistress 
is  taken  ill." 

The  two  men  were  left  alone.  Denis,  who  had  been 
standing  at  the  open  window  all  this  time,  with  his  back 
to  the  room,  turned  round  now  to  see  Gardiner  on  his 
knees,  hunting  over  the  floor.  "  What  are  you  doing?  "  he 
asked,  breaking  his  long  silence. 

"  Looking  for  my  chisel.  I  don't  think  I'll  leave  that 
for  the  police  to  find." 


A  LIE  THAT  IS  HALF  A  TRUTH  17 

The  little  doctor's  jibe  about  sal  volatile  had  not  been 
baseless.  Denis,  though  in  his  youth  he  had  been  through 
a  frontier  campaign  which  should  have  cured  him  of  such 
weakness,  looked  and  felt  rather  sick.  Gardiner  was  less 
sensitive.  He  pursued  his  search  without  qualms.  Denis 
watched  him. 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  say  to  the  police  when  they  do 
come  ? " 

"  What  you  said  to  Mrs.  Trent.     You  began  it,  Denis." 

"  You'll  have  to  give  evidence  on  oath  at  the  inquest." 

"  That  won't  trouble  my  conscience." 

"  I  suppose  they'll  call  me  as  well." 

"  Safe  to,"  assented  Gardiner.  Denis  said  nothing.  The 
younger  man,  looking  up,  asked  with  a  certain  hardihood : 
"  Are  you  going  to  give  me  away  ?  " 

"  I  won't  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  By  which  you  mean  — ?  " 

"If  I'm  asked  right  out,  Did  you  throw  the  chisel  at 
him?  I'll  have  to  say  Yes;  but  short  of  that  I'll  do  all  I 
can  to  get  you  out  of  the  scrape.  I'd  have  been  in  it  myself 
if  I'd  been  standin'  where  you  were." 

"  Only  you'd  have  owned  up  at  once,  whereas  I'm  not 
going  to,"  said  Gardiner,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  I  might 
have  known  you  couldn't  tell  a  lie,  Denis.  Here,  I  can't 
find  this  confounded  thing.  Where  the  devil  can  it  have 
got  to  ? " 

Denis,  putting  his  qualms  in  his  pocket,  went  down  on 
his  knees  and  joined  in  the  search.  They  looked  all  over 
the  room,  in  every  corner. 

"  I  should  say  it  must  be  underneath  him,"  said  Gardiner, 
with  a  reflective  glance  at  the  body,  "  but  I  don't  know 
that  I  exactly  want  to  look  and  see." 

Denis  with  an  uncontrollable  shudder  got  up  and  retreated 
to  the  window. 

"  How  can  you  talk  like  this?     You  make  me  sick! " 

"  My  good  Denis,  I  don't  feel  like  a  murderer  before  the 
corpse  of  his  victim,  if  that's  what  you're  driving  at!  I 
deny  that  I  was  in  the  least  to  blame.  Anybody  with  a 


18  CONVICT  B14 

spark  of  decent  feeling  must  have  done  what  I  did.  If 
he  broke  his  head,  poor  brute,  that  wasn't  my  fault ;  it's 
what  you  might  call  the  act  of  God.  I'm  not  going  to 
prison,  if  I  can  help  it,  for  a  crime  I  haven't  committed. 
In  the  meantime,  I  want  my  chisel." 

"  Well,  it's  not  —  where  you  suggest,"  said  Denis  with  an 
effort,  "  for  I  remember  seeing  it  after  he  fell." 

"  You  did  ?    Then  it  must  be  here  somewhere !  " 

But  it  was  not. 

"  What  the  devil  can  have  come  to  it  ?  "  said  Gardiner, 
biting  his  mustache,  and  betraying  his  agitation  by  his 
language ;  for  he  did  not  usually  swear. 

"  Mrs.  Trent  was  kneelin'  over  that  side." 

"  What,  do  you  think  she's  got  it  up  her  sleeve  ?  But 
in  that  case  why  didn't  she  bring  it  out  and  denounce  me? 
Here,  you'd  better  have  a  peg,  Denis,  you  look  as  though 
you  wanted  one.  What  the  deuce  should  she  carry  it 
away  with  her  for  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  it  struck  me  she  had  something  on 
the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  say  just  before  she  collapsed.  Per- 
haps she  meant  to  produce  it,  and  then  felt  too  sick." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Denis  sipped  the  whisky 
which  his  friend  had  forced  on  him.  It  was  not  so  much 
Trent's  death  which  had  upset  him,  as  Gardiner's  failure, 
and  the  part  which  it  forced  him  to  play.  He  hated  any 
contact  with  deception. 

"Well,  this  is  a  sweet  prospect,"  said  Gardiner,  with 
another  short  laugh.  "  Mrs.  Trent,  and  you  —  let's  hope 
the  coroner  won't  ask  awkward  questions !  Come  on  out 
now;  it's  no  use  hunting  for  a  thing  that  isn't  there.  I'll 
lock  up  the  room  and  summon  the  minions  of  the  law." 
"  I  wish  you'd  own  up." 

"  Oh,  confound  you  for  a  prig,  Denis !  I  can't  go  back 
on  what  I've  said,  can  I  ?  It  might  perhaps  have  been 
better  if  I'd  done  it  at  first,  but  I'm  committed  to  it  now. 
I  must  just  go  on  and  trust  to  luck.  It  was  you  began  it; 
don't  you  forget  that !  " 


CHAPTER  III 
NOCTURNE 

I  saw  a  dream  that  made  me  afraid,  and  the  thoughts  of  my  bed 
and  the  visions  of  my  head  troubled  me. —  DANIEL. 

UNDER  the  canopy  of  stars  Harry  Gardiner  lay  awake  think- 
ing of  his  sins ;  among  which  he  did  not,  then  or  later, 
include  any  responsibility  for  the  death  of  Trent.  It  was 
a  shocking  business,  of  course,  and  he  was  sorry,  exceedingly 
sorry,  things  had  turned  out  as  they  had ;  but  it  was  no  fault 
of  his.  You  had  to  put  a  stopper  on  that  sort  of  thing,  in 
the  interests  of  public  decency.  He  even  counted  it  to 
himself  for  righteousness  that  he  had  reacted  so  promptly 
and  so  vigorously  against  the  flesh  and  the  devil.  "  I  didn't 
know  I  had  it  in  me  at  this  time  of  day  to  flare  up  like  that !  " 
he  reflected  ingenuously.  Besides  —  and  this  for  Gardiner 
settled  the  question  and  finally  canonized  his  conduct  —  had 
not  Denis  said  that  in  his  shoes  he  would  have  done  the 
same?  Only  Denis  wouldn't  have  turned  coward  and  told 
lies. 

Gardiner  was  not  given  to  introspection ;  he  did  not  like 
himself  well  enough  to  think  about  himself,  or  stir  up 
his  own  motives.  In  Denis's  company,  however,  he  was 
forced  to  think,  because  the  unconscious  Denis  pointed  the 
contrast  between  them  at  every  turn.  Video  meliora  pro- 
boque,  deteriora  sequor.  This  was  the  more  painful,  be- 
cause Gardiner's  eye  was  jaundiced;  he  saw  his  own  vices 
very  large,  his  virtues  and  excuses  very  small.  He  knew 
that  the  bloom  had  been  rubbed  off  his  sense  of  honor,  but 
it  did  not  console  him  in  the  least  to  reflect  that  the  rough 
tumblings  he  had  been  through  might  very  well  have  knocked 
out  of  him  any  sense  of  honor  at  all. 

19 


20  CONVICT  B14 

He  and  Denis  had  been  together  at  school,  from  which 
Gardiner  had  run  or  rather  walked  away  to  sea  about  the 
time  when  Denis  was  going  up  for  Woolwich.  Gardiner 
went,  not  from  any  of  the  usual  motives,  but  because  kind 
friends  had  offered  him  a  clerkship  in  one  of  the  Dartford 
banks.  He  could  not  refuse  to  take  himself  off  his  father's 
hands,  but  he  would  not  be  a  clerk.  So  one  fine  morning 
he  came  to  town,  hung  about  the  Surrey  Commercial  Dock 
(not  for  the  first  time),  and  being  a  likely  looking  lad  got 
taken  on  at  a  pinch  on  board  the  s.s.  Immerwald,  bound 
for  South  America.  He  signed  on  as  O.S. ;  but  at  the 
last  moment  the  cook  of  the  Immerwald,  coming  on  board 
very  drunk,  fell  down  the  companion  and  had  to  be  left 
behind  in  hospital  with  a  broken  leg;  and  Gardiner,  on 
the  strength  of  some  indiscreet  boasts,  was  turned  into  the 
galley  in  his  stead  to  do  his  worst.  It  must  be  owned 
that  his  worst  was  rather  bad.  But  he  was  quick  and 
handy,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  Bahia  he  was  not 
cursed  by  the  steward  after  every  meal.  In  Bahia  he 
deserted.  Latin  America  had  always  been  his  goal.  His 
mother  was  half  Spanish;  he  had  absorbed  the  lovely  lan- 
guage of  Castile  in  his  cradle. 

In  Bahia  they  do  not  talk  Spanish,  but  Gardiner  was 
not  slow  to  pick  up  Portuguese;  and  in  his  first  shore 
berth,  as  cook  in  a  sailors'  eating-house,  he  added  to  his 
vocabulary  a  smattering  of  Italian,  Dutch,  and  Swedish. 
French  and  German  he  had  learned  at  home.  He  was 
un-English  in  his  gift  for  languages;  un-English  too  in 
other  ways,  notably  in  his  readiness  to  take  color  from 
his  surroundings.  During  the  next  five  years  he  generally 
passed  for  a  Spaniard.  He  wandered  over  the  length  and 
breadth  of  America,  going  north  to  Los  Angeles,  west  to 
Mollendo,  south  to  Santiago  de  Chile:  good  cooks  are  in 
demand  everywhere.  He  was  a  rolling  stone,  but  he 
gathered  moss,  which  he  dutifully  sent  home  to  the  Kentish 
rectory  where  he  had  been  born. 

At  twenty-two  he  was  in  the  Canaries,  where  Fate,  in- 
tervening, pushed  him  into  his  true  vocation.  An  Orotavan 


NOCTURNE  21 

fondista,  who  had  come  into  money  and  was  wild  to  get 
home  to  Seville,  offered  him  the  goodwill  of  his  place  for 
a  song.  Gardiner  accepted  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  and 
fell  in  love  with  his  trade.  Inns  kept  by  a  butler  or  a 
cook  are  proverbially  prosperous,  and  he  had  been  butler 
and  cook  in  one.  The  Tres  Amigos  flourished ;  Gardiner's 
remittances  home  became  regular  and  substantial.  It  seemed 
that  he  had  found  his  niche  at  last. 

He  stayed  in  Orotava  three  years.  Then,  without  warn- 
ing, for  the  first  time  since  his  son  left  home,  the  rector 
missed  his  weekly  letter.  Four  months  went  by,  and  Mr. 
Gardiner  nearly  fretted  himself  into  his  grave.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  the  correspondence  was  taken  up  again  — from 
Sydney.  Over  his  reasons  for  this  quick  change  to  the 
Antipodes  Gardiner  threw  an  airy  veil.  "  I  was  plenty 
sick  of  the  Islands,  I  thought  I'd  get  a  move  on,"  he  wrote. 
Mr.  Gardiner  accepted  the  excuse  in  all  good  faith.  Tom, 
his  younger  son,  a  conscientious  young  cadet,  thought  it 
sounded  rather  fishy ;  but  Tom  was  always  a  little  distrustful 
of  this  un-English  brother  of  his. 

The  truth  being  that  Gardiner  had  been  burning  his  fingers 
in  his  first  love  affair.  It  was  strange,  in  the  life  he  had  led, 
that  he  should  have  kept  his  innocence  so  long.  He  owed 
that  to  his  mother,  who  had  done  what  few  mothers  dare  — 
taken  her  courage  in  both  hands  and  told  him  plainly  what 
to  expect.  Then  she  set  the  seal  on  her  counsels  by  dying 
during  his  first  voyage.  She  had  been  very  fair,  as  well  as 
very  wise;  her  son  never  forgot  her,  and  found  it  easier 
to  follow  her  advice  because  her  beauty  and  wits  had  trained 
his  senses  to  be  fastidious.  But  he  had  a  passionate  tempera- 
ment under  his  superficial  hardness,  and,  never  having 
fribbled  away  his  feelings  in  light  connections,  he  came  to 
Pilar  Anguita  with  all  the  fire  of  unspoiled  youth.  In  her 
pale  tropical  lily  loveliness  she  seemed  to  him  the  incarna- 
tion of  his  dreams,  flower  of  the  Virgin  for  whom  she  was 
named. 

She  should  have  been  what  he  thought  her ;  she  belonged 
to  the  guarded  class,  the  class  that  does  not  allow  its  daugh- 


22  CONVICT  B14 

ters  to  set  foot  in  the  streets  unattended.  Her  father  was 
a  rich  man,  as  riches  go  in  Tenerife,  her  mother  had  been  a 
countess.  Nevertheless,  this  sheltered  lily  was  pleased  to 
run  concurrent  intrigues  with  Gardiner  and  with  an  idle 
young  sprig  of  nobility  from  Madrid.  Gardiner,  it  should 
be  said,  had  no  thought  of  intrigue ;  his  intentions  were 
strictly  honorable,  and  he  would  have  been  content  to  "  pluck 
the  turkey-hen  "  outside  her  window  in  humble  adoration 
till  he  was  in  a  position  to  ask  for  her  hand.  When  he 
found  himself  launched  into  another  course  he  was  horrified, 
conscience-stricken,  eager  only  to  make  amends.  But  Pilar 
had  no  intention  of  getting  married.  She  preferred  to  enjoy 
herself  in  her  own  way  in  her  own  home,  with  the  con- 
nivance of  her  ama,  a  latter-day  Celestina.  She  ran  her 
brace  of  lovers  till  she  made  the  inevitable  blunder,  and 
Gardiner  arrived  on  an  evening  dedicated  to  his  rival. 

The  scene  that  followed  brought  the  house  about  their 
ears,  and  Pilar's  career  found  an  abrupt  close.  She  was 
whisked  off  to  a  convent,  whence  she  eloped,  a  month  later, 
with  one  of  her  father's  grooms,  who,  as  it  then  came  out, 
had  antedated  both  his  rivals  by  a  year  or  so. 

Gardiner  did  not  hear  the  end  of  the  story  till  long 
after.  He  had  found  it  expedient  to  leave  the  Islands 
immediately  after  his  duel  with  Don  Luis.  You  may  call 
a  bullet  in  the  chest  pneumonia,  and  so  long  as  you  do 
not  die  nobody  can  question  your  assertion.  But  the  very 
dogs  in  the  streets  of  Orotava  knew  all  about  the  duel, 
which  was  conducted  on  the  American  plan  of  turning  both 
combatants  loose  on  opposite  sides  of  a  wood,  to  shoot  at 
sight.  Gardiner  was  out  to  kill ;  only  luck,  and  a  silver 
match-box,  diverted  his  bullet  from  his  rival's  heart. 

He  went  to  Sydney  to  get  away  from  himself.  It  took 
him  two  years.  Then  he  came  home.  England,  which  he 
had  seen  twice  only  since  he  was  sixteen,  amused  him  at 
first ;  but  he  soon  grew  tired  of  it  —  it  was  too  cramped,  he 
wanted  more  space,  fewer  people.  Still,  he  could  not  go 
far ;  his  father  was  getting  an  old  man,  and  clung  to  him.  A 
winter  walking  tour  discovered  his  ideal  on  the  Semois.  He 


NOCTURNE  S3 

settled  his  affairs  at  the  Easedale  with  his  usual  luck  and 
expedition,  and  was  free  to  start  his  new  life  —  if  only  — 

Since  the  affair  with  Pilar,  Gardiner  had  given  women 
a  wide  berth.  The  burnt  child  dreads  the  fire,  and  besides 
he  was  mightily  distrustful  of  his  own  temperament.  He 
did  not  make  the  mistake  of  despising  all  women  for  the 
fault  of  one ;  but  raptures  and  revenges,  duels  and  despair 
did  not  fit  into  the  scheme  of  life  mapped  out  by  his 
practical  mind.  Friendships  did.  He  had  many  friends. 
He  liked  middle-aged  men,  unlucky  men,  lame  dogs  of 
any  kind ;  and  his  friends  were  without  exception  better 
men  than  he.  A  choice  which  showed  that,  given  the 
chance,  he  would  grow  upwards  and  not  down.  And  of 
all  his  friends  Denis  stood  first,  partly  for  old  time's  sake, 
but  mainly  for  no  other  reason  than  that  of  all  men  in  the 
world  there  was  none  he  respected  more. 

"  Dear  old  ass !  "  he  said  to  himself,  between  amusement, 
affection,  and  envy,  contrasting  his  own  easy  code  with 
Denis's  Puritan  stiffness.  "  One  of  God's  dandies,  that's 
what  he  is,  but  I  wouldn't  have  him  different,  no,  I  wouldn't, 
though  he's  putting  me  in  the  divvle  of  a  hole  with  his 
whimsies.  Of  course  he's  right,  I  ought  to  have  owned 
up  at  once,  it  would  have  been  far  better  in  every  way.  But 
that  unlucky  speech  of  his  gave  me  a  loophole,  and  I  jumped 
at  it  —  I'd  have  jumped  at  anything  then.  I  didn't  exactly 
shine  on  that  occasion,  and  he  sees  I  didn't.  ...  I  wonder, 
would  it  be  better  even  now  to  eat  my  own  words  and  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it?  Upon  my  soul,  I've  half  a  mind  to! 
Ten  to  one  I  shall  be  caught  out  over  this  inquest ;  in  fact, 
I  don't  see  how  I'm  going  to  escape,  unless  Mrs.  Trent  is  too 
ill  to  show  up  —  and  I  don't  desire  that,  be  shot  if  I  do! 
poor  little  woman.*' 

A  blank  supervened.  He  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth 
and  listened.  He  was  sleeping  on  the  roof,  a  habit  he  had 
learned  in  Orotava,  and  earlier  in  the  night  there  had  been 
significant  sounds  below.  All  was  quiet  now,  however. 
"  No,  I  definitely  do  not  want  her  to  be  ill,"  he  resumed 
his  meditation.  "  I  haven't  sunk  to  that  yet,  no  matter 


24  CONVICT  B14 

what  it  costs  me.  And  what  will  it  cost  me  ?  Not  hanging ; 
Denis  was  talking  through  his  hat  there,  no  jury  could  pos- 
sibly bring  it  in  murder.  But  prison?  I'm  not  sure  I 
wouldn't  rather  hang." 

He  stared  up  at  the  stars.  Walls  and  a  roof  instead  of 
the  limitless  freedom  of  the  night.  Day  has  its  bounds, 
either  a  bright  blue  dome  or  a  ceiling  of  cloud,  but  night 
is  open  to  the  infinite.  You  may  lose  yourself  climbing  to 
the  pale  moon,  you  may  send  out  your  soul  for  ever  through 
space  beyond  the  ranges  of  the  stars.  There  were  two  men 
in  Gardiner.  By  day  he  was  the  prosperous  practical  inn- 
keeper; by  night  —  even  he  himself  did  not  know  how  much 
he  owed  to  those  solitary  nights  of  his,  though  he  did  know 
that  he  would  have  hated  to  have  Denis  spread  his  mattress 
on  the  roof  beside  him.  In  cities  Gardiner  was  an  alien ;  but 
trees,  mountains,  rivers  were  all  alive  for  him,  large  calm 
gracious  beings  to  whom  he  belonged,  with  whom  he  was 
at  ease.  Loneliness  and  freedom  were  the  breath  of  his 
life ;  and  was  he  to  exchange  them  for  an  eight-foot  cell  with 
a  spy-hole  in  the  door?  "Decidedly  I'd  rather  hang,"  he 
said  to  himself  in  a  crawling  sweat.  He  faced  a  new  idea. 
"  I  believe  I  funk  prison." 

Fear.  It  was  an  unfamiliar  feeling.  He  had  never  been 
afraid  of  men,  not  even  as  a  boy  on  the  Immerwald  when 
the  mate  had  been  drinking ;  he  had  kept  out  of  the  way  at 
such  times,  but  he  had  grinned  indifferent.  Nor  was  he 
afraid  of  death ;  he  had  seen  it  too  often.  But  this?  "  I've 
never  had  much  opinion  of  men  who  funk  things,  but  I 
believe  I'd  run  like  a  hare  if  it  was  a  question  of  prison  — 
well,  to  all  intents  and  purposes  I  did.  Pleasant.  I  didn't 
know  I  was  a  coward  before.  Hullo !  is  that  that  poor  little 
woman  again?  If  she  loses  her  kid,  I  shall  feel  like  a 
murderer." 

An  idea,  conceived  in  his  mind  hours  before,  had  been 
growing  in  secret,  and  now  came  suddenly  to  birth  as  a 
resolution.  "If  she  loses  her  kid  through  me,  I'll  hold  my 
tongue  about  Trent's  last  bit  of  beastliness,"  he  said,  and 
registered  the  vow.  "  I  do  owe  her  something,  and  I'll  pay 


NOCTURNE  «5 

this  way.  It'll  mean  a  lot  to  her :  I  believe  nothing,  not  his 
death  nor  even  the  kid's,  would  hit  her  so  hard  as  that  last 
thing  he  said.  Probably  it  didn't  in  the  least  represent  his 
normal  attitude,  but  a  woman  would  never  see  that.  She'd 
feel  as  I  felt  when  I  heard  Filar  —  No,  that  I'll  spare  her ! 
Yet  it'll  mean  a  lot  to  me  too  —  great  heavens,  but  it  will ! 
Say  I'm  committed  for  trial  after  this  inquest.  If  I  tell  the 
whole  truth,  I  shall  probably  be  acquitted.  If  I  don't  I  may 
get  —  six  months  ?  a  year  ?  Oh,  Lord !  The  point  is  that 
mine's  such  a  beastly  lame  story  without  that  speech;  I'm 
throwing  away  my  one  excuse.  .  .  .  Yet  if  I  speak  I  shall 
make  a  clean  sweep  of  all  she  has  left,  after  practically 
robbing  her  of  her  husband  and  child  —  no,  I  can't  and 
won't,  sea  lo  que  fuere,  in  common  decency  I  must  hold  my 
tongue.  Well,  anyhow,  this  disposes  of  any  idea  of  my 
owning  up  voluntarily,  as  Denis  wants  —  by  the  way,  I  must 
give  him  a  hint  to  shut  his  mouth  too.  He'll  do  it  to  spare 
a  woman,  even  if  it  involves  sacrificing  me.  Chivalrous  is 
Denis ;  I  suspect  he'll  come  a  bad  cropper  one  of  these  days, 
and  it'll  hurt  him  worse  than  it  did  me,  because  he's  finer 
stuff.  There's  the  dawn  —  I  wonder  how  it  looks  over  the 
Semois  at  Frahan?  What  a  jolly  place  the  world  is!  and 
I've  an  impression  that  in  a  manslaughter  case  they  won't 
allow  bail.  Well,  I've  done  enough  soul-searching  for  the 
present,  and  I  think  I  will  now  go  to  by-by.  Amanecerd 
Dios,  y  medraremos." 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  asleep  under  the  paling  stars, 
while  the  dawn  came  up  in  silver  over  Helvellyn,  this  astute 
young  man  who  was  ready  to  throw  away  everything  for  a 
romantic  scruple,  and  call  it  common  decency.  Gardiner 
was  not  quite  so  astute,  nor  so  level-headed,  nor  so  cowardly 
as  he  thought  himself. 


CHAPTER  IV 
WHEN  FIRST  WE  PRACTICE  TO  DECEIVE 

Bread  of  deceit  is  sweet  to  a  man ;  but  afterwards  his  mouth  shall 
be  filled  with  gravel. —  PROVERBS. 

FATALITY  AT  GRASMERE 

THE  inquest  on  the  body  of  Major  Trent,  who  was  killed 
by  a  fall  at  the  Easedale  Hotel,  Grasmere,  on  Thursday 
evening,  was  conducted  by  Dr.  Ellis,  coroner  for  West- 
morland, at  the  Easedale  Hotel  on  Friday. 

Mr.  Helmsley  Trent,  of  Perche  Place,  Marybourne,  Hants, 
identified  the  body  as  that  of  his  brother,  Major  Guy  Glisson 
Trent,  of  Thurlow  Park,  Surrey,  and  stated  that  the  age 
of  the  deceased  was  thirty-nine  years.  He  was  traveling  in 
the  Lakes  with  his  wife  on  a  motoring  tour. 

Mr.  H.  C.  Gardiner,  proprietor  of  the  Easedale  Hotel, 
stated  that  the  deceased,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  her 
maid,  came  to  the  hotel  on  Thursday  evening  and  engaged 
rooms  for  the  night.  They  dined  in  their  own  apartments. 
About  9.30  P.M.  deceased  came  to  witness's  private  parlor 
and  made  a  complaint  about  his  room.  It  was  not  usual  for 
guests  to  come  to  his  parlor.  Deceased  was  not  drunk,  but 
he  was  in  a  quarrelsome  mood,  and  inclined  to  make  a  row. 
Witness  satisfied  him  that  the  inconvenience  complained  of 
was  due  to  the  house  being  full.  Deceased  then  stayed  on 
talking  in  a  friendly  way.  About  ten  o'clock  witness  sug- 
gested that  it  was  getting  late.  Deceased  came  to  the  table 
to  fill  his  glass,  and  was  standing  by  it  when  his  feet  slipped 
from  under  him,  and  he  fell  backwards.  No  one  was  in  the 
room  except  witness  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Merion-Smith. 
They  were  sitting  by  the  window.  The  table  was  between 
them  and  the  deceased.  They  could  not  have  reached  him 
26 


WHEN  FIRST  WE  PRACTICE  TO  DECEIVE     27 

in  time  to  prevent  his  falling.  Witness  went  at  once  to  his 
assistance,  and  found  that  he  was  already  dead.  His  head 
had  struck  the  fender,  which  was  about  eight  inches  high, 
and  had  a  sharp  edge.  Deceased  did  not  speak  or  move  at 
all  after  the  fall. 

By  the  Coroner:  Deceased  had  helped  himself  to  whisky 
several  times  uninvited.  It  was  witness's  private  whisky. 
He  had  a  tumbler  in  his  hand  which  was  broken  when  he 
fell.  Witness  suggested  that  it  was  getting  late  because  he 
thought  deceased  had  had  enough.  He  was  not  drunk. 

By  the  Jury :  Deceased  was  perfectly  friendly  after  the 
first.  He  was  talking  about  India,  where  they  had  dis- 
covered mutual  friends. 

Miss  Emily  Marvin,  housekeeper  at  the  Easedale  Hotel, 
said  that  the  deceased  came  to  her  to  complain  of  his  room. 
He  was  not  drunk,  but  he  had  had  a  drop.  He  seemed  a 
very  irritable  sort  of  gentleman.  Witness  took  the  com- 
plaint to  Mr.  Gardiner  because  she  felt  she  could  not  manage 
him  herself.  The  floors  were  beeswaxed  every  Thursday 
morning.  They  had  been  done  that  day.  They  were  often 
a  bit  slippery  at  first.  She  had  once  slipped  down  herself 
and  broken  a  tray  of  glasses. 

Mr.  Denis  Arthur  Merion-Smith,  aeronautical  engineer, 
of  Bredon,  stated  that  he  was  in  the  parlor  with  Mr.  Gardiner 
when  deceased  came  in.  Witness  did  not  join  in  the  con- 
versation, but  he  saw  all  that  passed.  Deceased's  feet 
seemed  to  fly  up  in  the  air.  He  was  quite  dead  when  they 
reached  him.  Witness  loosened  his  collar,  but  was  sure  it 
would  do  no  good. 

The  Foreman:  What  in  your  opinion  was  the  cause  of 
the  deceased's  fall  ?  —  I  should  not  like  to  say.  He  was  not 
intoxicated,  but  he  was  not  quite  steady  on  his  feet.  A  per- 
fectly sober  man  would  probably  have  saved  himself. 

Dr.  Leonard  Scott,  of  Westby,  said  that  he  was  staying 
at  the  Easedale  Hotel,  and  was  called  to  attend  deceased 
at  about  10.30  P.M.  Deceased  had  apparently  been  dead 
about  ten  minutes  when  he  examined  him.  There  was  bleed- 
ing from  the  ears,  with  a  deep  cut  at  the  back  of  the  head ; 


28  CONVICT  B14 

also  a  very  slight  abrasion  on  the  forehead,  but  this  was  of 
no  significance.  It  might  have  been  caused  by  a  splinter 
of  glass  flying  up  and  striking  him.  Death  was  due  to 
fracture  of  the  base  of  the  skull,  and  was  probably  instan- 
taneous. In  cases  of  severe  fracture  that  is  not  unusual. 

By  the  Jury:  If  the  deceased's  feet  slipped  from  under 
him,  as  described  by  the  other  witnesses,  his  head  would 
strike  the  fender  first.  Deceased  was  a  heavy  man,  and 
such  a  fall  would  be  quite  sufficient  to  fracture  his  skull. 

P.  C.  Thornborough  gave  details  of  the  position  of  the 
body.  .  .  . 

There  was  plenty  more.  Dr.  Scott  skimmed  through  it 
all  to  the  verdict  of  accidental  death,  and  the  jury's  expres- 
sions of  sympathy  with  the  widow.  He  read  it  standing  in 
the  street  of  Ambleside,  and  then  doubled  the  paper  under 
his  arm  and  trudged  the  five  miles  back  to  Grasmere. 

The  Easedale  Hotel  was  no  longer  full.  A  violent  death, 
an  inquest,  and  a  confinement  had  emptied  the  house  and 
attracted  instead  a  crowd  of  casual  sightseers.  The  lounge 
and  terrace  were  full  of  them.  Scott  asked  for  Gardiner, 
and  climbed  many  stairs  to  the  roof.  Coming  out  of  a  last 
trap-door,  he  beheld  Gardiner  and  his  friend  among  the 
chimney-pots,  in  close  conversation,  which  died  instantly  on 
his  appearance. 

There  was  a  table,  there  were  chairs,  there  was  a  bed 
beneath  an  awning.  Gardiner,  at  full  length  on  a  lounge, 
swung  his  feet  to  the  ground  and  welcomed  his  visitor. 
Merion-Smith  acknowledged  him  with  a  distant  nod. 

"  I've  brought  you  the  local  rag,"  said  Scott,  planting  him- 
self firmly  on  a  hard  upright  chair.  "  It  has  a  full  report. 
I  walked  over  to  Ambleside  for  it." 

Gardiner  thanked  him  amiably,  glanced  over  the  sheet, 
and  passed  it  to  Denis,  who  read  solidly  through  from  end 
to  end ;  this  to  keep  out  of  the  conversation.  "  Here's  a 
man  I  don't  know:  safe  to  be  a  bounder:  confound  his 
impudence !  " —  such  was  his  attitude  to  the  casual  stranger. 
He  did  not  like  the  middle  classes. 


WHEN  FIRST  WE  PRACTICE  TO  DECEIVE     £9 

"  We're  up  here  because  he  didn't  fancy  the  parlor," 
said  Gardiner,  with  a  lazy  nod  towards  his  friend.  "  Says 
the  place  makes  him  sick.  You'd  expect  a  flying  man  to 
have  cranks,  wouldn't  you?  He  has  enough  to  stock  an 
engine.  What  do  you  recommend  for  nerves,  doctor  ?  " 

"  M'm!  you  don't  look  up  to  much  yourself.  You're  the 
color  of  brown  holland." 

"  Me  ?  I'm  as  limp  as  a  rag ;  never  felt  so  pale  in  my 
life.  All  these  agitations  are  so  trying,"  said  Gardiner, 
filling  his  pipe  and  pushing  the  cigarettes  across  the  table. 
"  Help  yourself.  I  can  recommend  them;  that  fellow  never 
buys  a  cheap  smoke.  How's  Mrs.  Trent?" 

"  As  well  as  can  be  expected." 

"  Poor  little  woman,"  said  Gardiner.  "  I  say,  doctor,  I 
am  beastly  sorry  about  this.  Sorrier  than  I've  been  about 
most  things  in  my  life." 

The  sincere  feeling  behind  his  words  drew  out  Scott's 
impatient  reply. 

"Woman!  She's  a  child:  not  a  day  over  twenty.  A 
girl's  too  young  at  that  age  to  marry  and  face  this  sort  of 
thing.  I'd  make  it  illegal." 

"  My  dear  man,  don't  shout  at  me !  7  don't  know  how 
old  she  is:  couldn't  tell  her  from  Eve,  if  I  met  her.  I  never 
saw  her  without  that  motor  veil  thing  hanging  over  her  face. 
She's  lost  her  child,  hasn't  she  ?  " 

"  She  has." 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  comes  from,  or  anything  about 
her  people  ?  " 

"  What  the  maid  told  me.  She  has  no  people.  Lived 
till  her  marriage  with  an  uncle  and  aunt  who  owed  her  a 
grudge  about  some  money  that  was  left  to  her  over  the 
uncle's  head.  They  wouldn't  let  her  speak  to  a  man,  for 
fear  she  should  marry  and  they  lose  the  enjoyment  of  it. 
Trent  made  her  elope  with  him.  Naturally  she  looked  on 
him  as  a  sort  of  St.  George." 

"  A  good  thing  he  died  before  she  found  him  out,  then." 

"  He  was  a  rascal,  was  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  wasn't  precisely  a  St.  George." 


30  CONVICT  B14 

"  H'm !  "  said  Scott.  It  was  an  expression  he  used  often, 
and  with  varying  meaning.  Gardiner  smoked  in  silence. 
Denis,  who  had  read  to  the  end  of  the  inquest,  propped  his 
tall,  immaculate  person  against  a  chimney-stack  and  watched 
them  both.  When  he  did  not  snap,  the  little  doctor  ex- 
pressed himself  like  an  educated  man,  and  his  voice  was 
pure  in  quality.  These  things  were  in  his  favor. 

"  Has  she  still  got  that  idea  in  her  head  about  me  ? " 
asked  Gardiner. 

"  How  do  I  know,  man  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  talk  to  my 
patients  about  things  of  that  kind?  She  hasn't  mentioned 
you  at  all,  so  far  as  I  know.  Lies  still,  says  nothing,  asks  no 
questions  —  brooding  over  that  scamp,  I  suppose.  Well, 
she's  getting  better,  and  that's  all  that  concerns  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gardiner.  He  looked  very  tired.  "If  you 
see  a  chance,  give  her  my  regrets  and  condolences  and  all 
that,  will  you  ?  You  might  pitch  it  pretty  strong.  I  shan't 
be  here  to  do  it  myself." 

"  You  won't  ?    Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Oh,  I've  sold  the  place,  and  I'm  clearing  out.  Didn't 
you  know?  I  was  going  in  any  case  at  the  end  of  the 
month,  and  I've  put  it  forward  a  bit,  to  give  my  successor 
a  chance.  All  this  fuss  is  very  bad  for  trade.  It's  emptied 
the  house.  It'll  fill  up  again  quicker  if  I'm  out  of  it." 

"Where  are  you  going  yourself,  hey?" 

"To  the  most  beautiful  place  in  the  Ardennes,  which  I 
design  to  run  as  a  sanatorium  —  no,  not  a  common  open- 
air  shop,  but  healthful  bracing  breezes  for  the  jaded,  don't 
you  know?  Very  great  it's  going  to  be.  I  invite  you  to 
come  out  and  pay  me  a  visit." 

"  H'm !  do  you  think  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  run  about 
the  Continent  enjoying  myself  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  might  combine  business  with  pleasure 
—  see  the  place,  and  then  recommend  it  to  your  patients.  I 
should  be  charmed  to  receive  them." 

"  You  would,  would  you  ?  Not  half  so  pleased  as  they'd 
be  to  come." 


WHEN  FIRST  WE  PRACTICE  TO  DECEIVE     31 

"  Why,  who  are  your  patients  ? "  asked  Gardiner,  idly 
answering  the  significance  of  his  tone. 

"  Criminals,"  said  the  little  man.  "  I'm  doctor  at  Westby 
Jail  —  where  you'd  be  at  this  minute,  if  Mrs.  Trent  had 
had  her  way." 

Denis  would  not  look  at  his  f  rieind.  "  I  can't  say  I  envy 
you  your  job,"  remarked  the  young  man. 

"  That  just  shows  you  don't  know  anything  about  it," 
was  the  instant  retort.  "  Criminals  have  souls  as  well  as 
you,  haven't  they?  There  are  better  men  in  prison  than 
scores  I've  met  outside,  whom  our  ungodly  laws  can't  or 
won't  touch.  I've  known  one  man  get  eighteen  months  for 
stealing  a  pair  of  boots,  and  another  let  off  with  a  fine  and  a 
caution  for  roasting  a  cat  on  the  fire.  Christians?  Why, 
we  haven't  got  up  to  the  ten  commandments  yet !  The  Jews 
did  put  Thou  shalt  not  kill  and  Thou  shall  not  commit 
Adultery  before  Thou  shalt  not  steal;  but  impurity's  nothing 
to  us,  and  cruelty  not  much  more.  Christians !  We  reserve 
our  jails  for  any  one  who  dares  to  meddle  with  our  sacred 
property.  Upon  my  soul,  I  wonder  any  man  can  find  the 
face  to  refuse  the  women  a  share  in  mending  the  laws  of  this 
land,  considering  the  pretty  mess  we've  made  of  them  our- 
selves ! " 

He  shot  out  of  his  chair  and  marched  to  the  edge  of  the 
roof.  Gardiner  followed,  laughing,  and  sat  on  the  parapet. 
A  rose  and  silver  sunset  was  darkening  the  fells  above  Ease- 
dale  Tarn,  and  the  moon,  a  globe  of  pearl,  made  beautiful  the 
cold  gray  eastern  sky. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  want  to  leave  your  own  country 
for,"  said  Scott,  still  irascible,  but  simmering  into  calm. 
"  Isn't  this  good  enough  for  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  out  for  a  land  where  they  have  more  Christian 
laws,"  said  Gardiner  easily.  "  England's  too  civilized  to  be 
livable,"  he  added. 

Scott  did  not  hear  him.  He  was  studying  the  house  under 
their  feet. 

"  That's  Mrs.  Trent's  room  below,  I  suppose  ?    And  your 


32  CONVICT  B14 

parlor  below  that,  on  the  ground  floor?  Any  one  in  that 
south  wing  opposite  could  see  straight  in.  Lucky  for  you 
there  was  nobody  watching  on  Thursday  evening." 

"  Lucky?    What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Scott  turned  round  and  stared  in  the  face. 

"You  didn't  want  any  visitors  in  hysterics,  did  you? 
Enough  people  involved  in  it  already,  aren't  there?  What 
do  you  mean  yourself?" 

"  I  thought,"  said  Gardiner,  "  I  thought  you  were  echoing 
Mrs.  Trent's  idea,  and  suggesting  I'd  done  him  in." 

It  was  the  best  he  could  do,  but  it  was  not  good.  Scott 
stared  at  him  with  his  bright  eyes,  shifted  them  to  Denis, 
and  brought  them  back  to  Gardiner  again.  Gardiner  knew 
that  in  the  first  moment  of  surprise  he  had  started  vio- 
lently, changed  color,  showed  all  the  signs  of  guilt.  Nothing 
could  erase  that  impression. 

"  Your  nerves  must  be  in  a  bad  way  for  you  to  jump  like 
that  at  an  innocent  remark,"  said  Scott  dryly. 

"  They  are,  I  told  you  so.  You  can  give  me  something 
for  them,  if  you  like.  I  don't  mind  swallowing  your  beast- 
linesses." 

"  No,"  said  Scott.  He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  I  must 
go  to  my  patient.  Good-night  to  you  both."  He  climbed 
down  through  the  trap-door,  and  then  poked  his  head  up 
again  to  add :  "  Mind,  I  never  meddle  with  what  isn't  my 
concern.  Never." 

He  was  seen  no  more,  and  they  heard  him  descending  the 
ladder. 

"  Damn,"  said  Gardiner. 

"  He  won't  make  any  use  of  it,"  said  Denis.  "  That's  not 
a  bad  little  chap,  Harry." 

"Not  a  bad  little  chap?  He's  a  most  confoundedly  in- 
quisitive little  chap!  He  won't  rest  till  he's  ferreted  out 
the  whole  thing.  Oh,  damn!  I  wouldn't  have  had  this 
happen  for  anything.  Why  the  devil  couldn't  I  keep  my 
countenance?  I  thought  I  might  have  trusted  myself  for 
that!" 

He  paced  up  and  down  in  a  fury. 


WHEN  FIRST  WE  PRACTICE  TO  DECEIVE     33 

"  You've  had  a  tryin'  time." 

"Trying?  I've  had  a  scarifying  time!  That  inquest, 
when  the  foreman  began  pumping  you  —  I'd  have  mur- 
dered you  as  well,  Denis,  if  you  hadn't  been  adroit.  But 
if  I'm  going  to  lose  my  nerve  over  such  trifles  as  this  — 
what  an  ass !  oh,  what  an  ass !  " 

He  threw  himself  back  on  the  lounge.  Denis  could  not 
help  feeling  that  he  took  it  rather  weakly.  He  did  not  allow 
for  the  rift  in  his  friend's  armor,  that  demoralizing  fear  of 
confinement.  In  these  last  few  days  their  positions  seemed 
to  have  been  reversed. 

"  Scott  can't  do  anything,"  he  said  rather  coolly.  '*  It's 
no  use  his  suspectin'  if  there's  no  one  he  can  pump,  and 
there  isn't.  I'm  not  going  to  give  it  away,  and  you  aren't 
either,  when  you're  yourself  again.  As  to  Mrs.  Trent,  she 
can't  prove  anything  from  the  chisel  —  you  might  have  left 
it  there  from  openin'  the  case.  Besides,  Scott  wouldn't  dis- 
cuss it  with  her.  He's  above  that." 

"  I  dare  say  you're  right,  but  I  wish  I  hadn't  been  such 
an  ass,  and  I  wish  he  weren't  the  doctor  at  Westby,"  said 
Gardiner,  with  a  huge  yawn,  "  it  brings  it  so  unpleasantly 
near.  Oh,  Lord!  I  am  tired.  Do  you  mind  clearing  out 
now  ?  I  expect  I  shall  sleep  like  a  log.  Please  the  pigs,  in 
another  couple  of  weeks'  time  I'll  be  out  of  this  over-civ- 
ilized, over-populated  country ! " 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  FLY  ON  THE  WALL 

I  only  knew  one  poet  in  my  life : 

And  this,  or  something  like  it,  was  his  way. 

How  it  strikes  a  Contemporary. 

THREE  days  after  the  inquest  Denis  came  up  to  town  to  in- 
terview a  timber  merchant  as  to  a  contract  about  which 
there  had  been  a  difference  of  opinion.  He  looked  down 
on  the  man  through  his  eyeglass,  carried  all  his  points,  and 
departed,  leaving  exasperation  in  his  wake.  After  this, 
finding  he  had  some  hours  to  spare  before  he  need  catch 
his  train  to  Bredon,  he  went  to  pay  a  call  on  his  cousin 
Lettice. 

Denis  was,  like  his  friend  Gardiner,  the  son  of  a  clergy- 
man; but  not  of  a  poor  country  parson.  Denis's  father 
was  honorary  canon  of  Rochester  and  rural  dean;  he  held 
a  family  living,  and  had  besides  a  comfortable  income  of  his 
own.  There  was  some  excuse  for  the  double  name.  The 
Merions  were  a  penniless  Irish  family  with  a  pedigree  de- 
rived from  the  ancient  kings  (all  Irish  pedigrees  derive  from 
the  ancient  kings).  The  Smith  and  the  money  had  come 
to  them  together,  a  couple  of  generations  back,  from  an 
eccentric  old  bachelor  who  had  loved  and  lost  one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  house.  Marrying  late,  Canon  Merion- 
Smith  was  over  fifty  when  his  only  son  was  born  and  his 
wife  died.  Denis  had  only  a  nurse  to  mother  him,  but  he 
did  not  suffer;  he  was  a  very  happy  small  boy,  who  from 
his  babyhood  never  thought  of  anything  but  engines.  He 
was  not  at  all  like  his  father,  an  easy-going  Irishman  with 
a  strong  sense  of  humor,  but  they  were  inseparable  friends, 
who  explored  the  path  of  knowledge  hand  in  hand.  There 
was  no  question  of  parental  authority.  Denis  did  what  was 
34 


THE  FLY  ON  THE  WALL  35 

required  either  because  he  considered  it  reasonable,  or  else 
to  please  his  father,  to  whom  the  staid  small  boy  was  a  per- 
petual fund  of  amusement. 

Canon  Merion-Smith  taught  his  son  at  home  till  he  was 
fourteen,  and  then,  rather  doubtfully,  sent  him  to  Rochester,- 
whither  his  friend  Harry  Gardiner  had  preceded  him. 
Doubtfully,  because  he  was  beginning  to  distrust  his  own 
training.  He  did  not  think  Denis  would  be  happy  at  school ; 
but  he  had  no  desire  to  be  the  parent  of  a  prig.  Denis  was 
not  happy.  He  hated  arbitrary  rules ;  he  could  never  get 
into  his  head  that  it  was  not  his  to  reason  why.  Only  Gard- 
iner made  his  schooldays  endurable.  He  stayed  at  Roches- 
ter till  he  was  nearly  seventeen,  and  then  passed  unexpectedly 
without  extra  coaching  straight  into  Woolwich.  He  was 
very  clever,  and  strikingly  handsome  in  a  thin,  aristocratic 
way,  but  he  thought  no  more  of  his  abilities  than  of  his 
good  looks.  Denis  was  proud,  but  he  had  not  a  trace  of 
vanity.  He  was  an  example  of  the  not  uncommon  blend  of 
class  arrogance  and  personal  modesty. 

He  passed  out  of  Woolwich  first  in  his  batch,  went  to 
Chatham,  to  Rangoon,  saw  active  service  in  a  frontier  cam- 
paign—  the  most  unhappy  years  of  his  life.  He  had  gone 
into  the  army  to  please  his  father,  but  he  hated  discipline, 
and  his  heart  was  set  on  aeronautics.  When  Canon  Merion- 
Smith  died,  Denis  resigned  his  commission  and  devoted  him- 
self to  the  problems  of  flight.  The  way  of  inventors  is 
hard.  He  lost  all  his  own  money  and  some  of  Gardiner's, 
who  came  back  into  his  life  in  time  to  do  the  beloved  aero- 
plane a  service  which  Denis,  conservative  in  gratitude,  never 
forgot.  He  brought  himself  to  the  verge  of  bankruptcy. 
At  his  last  sixpence  he  fell  in  with  Sydney  Wandesforde,  a 
well-known  motor-racing  amateur,  who  had  transferred  his 
interest  to  the  new  sport,  and  was  as  keen  on  the  practical 
side  of  flying  as  Denis  on  the  theoretical.  He  had  what 
Denis  had  not  —  a  bottomless  purse  and  family  influence 
to  back  it.  They  joined  forces,  and  from  that  time  Denis's 
future  was  assured. 

His  cousin  Lettice — Laetitia  Jane  Smith  —  had  been  in 


36  CONVICT  B14 

his  life  for  many  years,  since  she,  with  her  mother  and 
sisters,  came  to  settle  in  the  village  of  which  Canon  Merion- 
Smith  was  incumbent.  Rosabel  and  Stella  were  charming, 
half  Irish  and  half  French ;  but  Lettice,  the  eldest,  had  al- 
ways been  Denis's  ally.  She  was  deliberate  where  they  were 
quick,  silent  while  they  chattered,  methodical  instead  of 
happy-go-lucky.  They  were  clever,  but  she  was  the  born 
student,  patient,  accurate,  thorough.  The  household  was 
always  short  of  money,  so  Lettice,  who  suffered  in  that  at- 
mosphere of  elegant  muddle,  left  home  as  soon  as  she  could 
and  set  up  for  herself.  She  was  very  fond  of  her  rela- 
tions, and  they  of  her,  but  she  found  them  trying  to  live 
with.  Lettice  had  a  temper ;  she  said  herself  it  was  a  dumb 
devil.  Still,  since  it  was  very  strictly  dumb,  you  had  to 
know  her  well,  and  watch  her  carefully,  before  you  dis- 
covered its  existence. 

She  now  occupied  an  attic  in  Pimlico,  and  worked  all  day 
in  the  British  Museum  library.  She  might  have  been  more 
comfortable  in  a  boarding-house,  but  she  preferred  soli- 
tude, or  rather  silence ;  she  was  perennially  interested  in  her 
fellow-creatures,  but  she  did  not  want  to  be  talked  to  by 
them.  She  was  always  the  spectator,  never  the  actor,  hav- 
ing eyes,  and  ears,  a  synthetic  mind,  and  that  delicate  sense 
of  humor,  pity  and  irony  in  one,  which  is  a  lamp  to  the  feet 
of  its  possessor. 

But  what  marked  Lettice  off  from  other  people  was  her 
passion  for  self-obliteration.  Most  of  us  in  our  hearts  love 
to  fill  the  center  of  the  stage.  Lettice  was  miserable  there. 
She  liked  to  be  the  fly  on  the  wall.  Yet  she  was  unselfish  as 
well  as  selfless,  gentle,  accommodating,  all  things  to  all  men. 
She  was  like  a  penny-in-the-slot  machine  for  doing  good : 
you  put  in  your  need,  out  came  her  response :  and  she  asked 
no  more  gratitude  than  the  machine.  To  thank  her  was  like 
touching  the  horns  of  a  snail.  A  harmless  whim  in  many 
ways,  yet  with  elements  of  danger;  for  tastes  of  this  sort 
strengthen  as  they  grow,  and  Lettice's  friends  were  begin- 
ning to  fear  she  would  fade  away  altogether  to  an  imper- 
sonal ghost,  unless  something  happened  to  call  her  back. 


THE  FLY  ON  THE  WALL  37 

She  should  have  been  Merion-Smith  too ;  she  owed  the 
affix  to  the  same  Irish  grandmother  from  whom  Denis  had 
inherited  his  profile,  his  accent,  his  superstitions,  and  his 
family  pride.  He  had  been  known  to  send  back  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  the  name  of  Smith.  Lettice,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  dropped  the  hyphen  with  all  celerity.  Denis  might  lec- 
ture her  on  her  slackness ;  she  concurred  amiably  so  long 
as  she  was  with  him,  and  then  went  on  her  way  exactly  as 
before.  Lettice  on  the  surface  was  all  sweet  pliability,  but 
underneath  lay  solid  rock.  Denis  faced  the  world  as  an 
obstinate,  pugnacious  Irishman,  whereas  a  skilful  hand 
could  guide  him  with  a  silken  thread.  Lettice  read  him  like 
a  book  and  made  soft  fun  of  him,  but  always  with  a  reserve 
of  peculiarly  tender  affection;  she  thought  a  great  deal  of 
her  cousin.  And  Denis  thought  a  gread  deal  —  a  very  great 
deal  —  of  her.  He  was  aware  that  in  half  her  innocent 
speeches  she  was,  to  put  it  gracefully,  having  him  on ;  but 
what  did  that  matter?  Lettice  was  Lettice.  He  did  not 
analyze  his  friends;  he  idealized  them. 

Denis  was  received  at  No.  33  Canning  Street  by  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  a  smart  young  person  in  silk  stock- 
ings who  invited  him,  with  never  a  "  Sir  "  to  her  sentence, 
to  step  up  and  find  Miss  Smith  in  the  top  back  attic.  The 
stairs  were  dark;  Denis,  gloomily  reflecting  on  the  deca- 
dence of  the  lower  classes,  fell  over  a  pair  of  boots  and  trod 
in  a  dust-pan  which  flew  up  and  hit  him.  He  was  not  in 
the  best  of  tempers  when  he  knocked  at  his  cousin's  door. 

"  Come  in !  "  called  out  an  abstracted  voice,  wearily  raised ; 
and  he  obeyed.  There  stood  Lettice  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  holding  out  with  both  arms  before  her  nose  a  news- 
paper which  enwrapped  her,  mind  and  body.  Lettice  had 
been  known,  when  she  came  in  from  the  Museum  after  her 
day's  work,  to  read  through  the  whole  of  a  novel,  standing 
under  the  gas,  before  she  moved  to  take  off  her  hat.  It 
took  some  time  for  Denis's  presence  to  penetrate,  and  then 
she  lowered  her  arms  slowly  and  looked  round. 

"  O-oh,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  you  were  the  milk.  Sit 
down,  sit  down." 


38  CONVICT  BU 

She  folded  up  her  paper  and  poked  it  under  a  book,  took 
away  his  hat  and  stick,  and  fetched  the  milk  from  the 
passage,  hurrying  slowly,  as  her  custom  was.  Denis  sat 
down,  and  discovered  that  he  was  very  glad  to  be  with  her 
again.  A  cooling  fountain  in  life's  dry,  dreary  sand,  that 
was  what  Lettice  represented.  She  was  not  a  beauty ;  she 
had  none  of  the  attributes  of  a  heroine.  Her  nose  was 
nondescript,  her  complexion  poor,  her  mouth  large,  though 
there  was  character  in  the  full  under  lip ;  character  also,  and 
brains,  in  the  big  forehead  which  she  hid  beneath  her  soft 
brown  hair.  For  the  rest,  she  had  drooping  shoulders  and 
a  long  slim  neck;  she  chose  and  put  on  her  clothes  like  a 
Frenchwoman ;  but  her  best  points  were  the  set  and  shape 
of  her  graceful  little  head,  and  the  somewhat  misleading 
sweetness  of  her  hazel  eyes. 

Her  room  was  a  long  white  attic,  one  end  curtained  off. 
There  was  a  window  in  the  gable  facing  west,  and  in  the 
window  a  table  overflowing  with  manuscripts  and  books; 
sheets  of  foolscap  covered  with  her  graceful  writing,  an 
Old  English  text,  a  Latin  grammar,  a  treatise  on  court  hand. 
She  was  trying  to  make  up  for  a  haphazard  education  by 
teaching  herself.  As  she  passed  on  her  way  to  the  cup- 
board, she  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  out  of  the  muddle  and 
presented  it  to  Denis. 

"  Now  you  can  just  look  through  that  while  I'm  making 
the  tea,  and  see  if  there  are  any  mistakes,"  she  enjoined 
him  in  the  minute  expressive  voice  which  was  one  of  her 
charms  to  those  who  found  her  charming.  Denis  found 
himself  faced  by  a  Latin  exercise.  When  he  had  learned 
all  his  cousin  could  tell  him  about  the  wreaths  and  the  roses 
that  adorned  the  girls  and  the  queens,  he  turned  the  page, 
and  came  on  something  more  attractive.  In  her  hours  of 
ease  Lettice  was  a  poet.  Looking  up  from  her  task  with  the 
bread  knife,  she  saw  what  he  was  doing,  turned  a  deep 
pink,  and  silently  but  swiftly  removed  the  sheet  from  the 
fingers.  Denis  laughed. 

"  Haven't  you  anything  to  show  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Lettice,  acerb  and  forbidding. 


THE  FLY  ON  THE  WALL  39 

"  '  Sheep  on  a  lonely  road, 
Gray  in  the  gray — '" 

Denis  quoted  maliciously.  The  poet  covered  her  ears  with 
her  hands. 

"  Oh,  do-o-on't !  " 

"  Well,  let  me  see  the  rest  of  it !  " 

"  Well,  it  isn't  finished ;  it's  no  good  looking  at  a  thing 
till  it's  finished,  is  it?"  retorted  Lettice  in  a  soft  flurry  of 
exasperation.  Her  poetry  was  dug  out  of  her  own  soul,  and 
she  suffered  the  pains  of  vivisection  in  hearing  it  discussed. 
Denis  knew  this  well,  and  Lettice  knew  he  knew  it.  Look- 
ing like  an  affronted  kitten,  she  retired  into  a  silence  that 
the  brutal  critic  might  have  called  sulky,  and  seemed  dis- 
posed to  stay  there.  But  Denis  knew  how  to  make  his  peace. 
Just  then  the  kettle  boiled  over.  He  was  quick  to  lift  it 
off  —  and  to  put  it  down  again  in  a  hurry,  shaking  his  fin- 
gers. Before  he  could  find  his  handkerchief,  down  swooped 
Lettice's  arm ;  she  seized  the  handle,  bore  it  away,  took  her 
time  over  filling  the  teapot,  ostentatiously  stayed  to  settle  the 
cozy;  then,  having  displayed  beyond  possibility  of  oversight 
the  superior  hardness  of  her  palm,  she  replaced  the  kettle 
on  the  hob,  and  returned  to  her  toasting  fork,  exuding  vain- 
glory. 

This  incident  settled,  they  talked  of  the  aeroplane.  This 
was  invariably  Lettice's  first  question,  and  it  brought  down 
a  shower  of  information,  all  water  on  a  duck's  back.  Con- 
sidering what  excellent  brains  she  had,  it  was  surprising  how 
dense  she  could  be  when  she  chose.  When  Denis's  fluent 
Irish  tongue  ran  dry,  she  was  ready  with  her  next  question. 

"  And  did  you  have  a  nice  time  at  Grasmere  with  dear 
Harry?" 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  Denis  with  unexpected  force.  "  I 
had  a  perfectly  beastly  time !  " 

"  Dear,  dear !     How  was  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  things  went  wrong,"  said  Denis  vaguely.  He 
wanted  to  tell  the  whole  story  —  Lettice  seemed  to  purify 
and  sweeten  all  she  took  into  her  knowledge,  and  this  badly 
needed  sweetening.  He  hated  it;  he  hated  his  evasions  at 


40  CONVICT  B14 

the  inquest,  what  Gardiner  called  his  adroitness ;  he  hated 
soiling  his  fingers;  he  was  vaguely  dissatisfied  with  his 
friend.  But  since,  for  Gardiner's  sake,  he  could  not  tell 
her  all,  he  told  her  nothing.  Half-truths  were  no  good  with 
Lettice.  "  By  the  by,  why  didn't  you  come  ?  "  he  said.  "  I 
was  expectin'  you  all  the  time.  I  couldn't  think  where 
you'd  got  to.  You  as  good  as  promised  to  turn  up !  " 

"  Were  you  very  disappointed  ?  " 

"  No.  No,  I  can't  say  I  was  —  not  altogether.  I  want 
you  to  meet  Harry,  but  I  didn't  want  you  this  time.  Queer 
chap  he  is  —  you  may  think  you  know  a  man,  but  you  never 
do." 

Lettice's  eyebrows  moved  upwards  ever  so  little.  "  How 
do  you  mean  queer?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  has  all  sorts  of  cranks.  Last 
time  he  was  at  Bredon,  that  cold  spell  when  all  the  pipes 
were  burstin',  nothing  would  do  but  he  must  sleep  out  in  the 
garden  all  the  time.  And  it  was  just  the  same  at  Gras- 
mere,  though  it  rained  cats  and  dogs.  You  can't  be  even 
with  his  fads,"  Denis  added  with  a  sigh,  extending  himself 
in  his  chair,  his  long  legs  stretched  half  across  the  hearth. 
"  He's  off  almost  at  once  to  that  place  in  the  Ardennes  I 
was  tellin'  you  about.  I've  promised  to  run  over  there  next 
summer.  I  wish  you'd  come  too,  Lettice,  as  you  didn't 
bring  it  off  this  time." 

"You  said  you  didn't  want  me,"  murmured  Lettice  re- 
proachfully. 

"  I  didn't  want  you  when  things  were  all  beastly.  But  I 
do  want  you  to  meet  Harry.  I  want  your  opinion  of  him." 

To  this  Lettice  made  no  reply.  She  set  a  few  slow,  neat 
stitches  in  the  cloth  she  was  embroidering. 

"  Whereabouts  is  it,  this  place  in  the  Ardennes  ?  " 

"  Near  Bouillon.  You  can  get  there  for  next  to  nothing, 
if  that's  what  you're  thinkin'  of,  but  I  wish  you'd  let  me 
take  you.  I  did  rather  well  over  that  deal  this  morning  and 
I'm  rollin'.  After  all,  you're  as  good  as  my  sister.  You 
might  just  as  well." 

Lettice  did  not  thank  him;  that  was  taken  for  granted. 


THE  FLY  ON  THE  WALL  41 

They  understood  each  other  so  well  that  words  were  often 
superfluous. 

"If  it's  not  very  expensive  I  might  manage  it  myself," 
she  said.  "  My  old  man  in  Harley  Street  says  I've  got  to 
take  a  holiday,  so  I  suppose  I  must  go  somewhere,  just  to 
satisfy  him.  And  I  should  rather  like  to  see  the  Ardennes." 

"  Have  you  been  to  the  doctor  again  ?  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  before,  Lettice  ?  What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  says,"  said  Lettice  with  inimitable  unction,  "  that  I 
am  in  a  state  of  thorough  nervous  exhaustion,  and  ought  to 
take  six  months'  rest.  So." 

"  Then  I  hope  you're  going  to  do  it !  " 

Lettice  smiled.  She  did  not  look  particularly  docile. 
Denis  was  beguiled  into  lecturing  her  about  her  health, 
though  he  knew  it  was  time  wasted  —  nay,  rather,  time  mis- 
spent. For  Miss  Smith  was  like  a  pig,  and  if  you  pulled 
her  one  way  she  was  apt  to  go  the  other.  In  this  case,  how- 
ever, it  seemed  that  she  had  fairly  made  up  her  mind  before 
he  came  to  a  holiday  abroad,  for  presently  she  let  slip  that 
she  had  been  studying  a  guide  to  the  Ardennes,  which  she 
had  borrowed  from  a  neighbor  below.  Denis  sent  her  down 
to  borrow  it  again. 

While  she  was  away  he  wandered  about,  looking  at  her 
books.  Under  a  fat  dictionary  he  came  upon  the  paper  she 
had  been  reading  when  he  entered,  and  he  pulled  it  out 
to  see  if  she  still  took  what  he  called  the  Radical  rag.  Its 
name  stared  him  in  the  face:  The  Westmorland  Gazette. 
It  was  doubled  back  at  page  four:  Fatality  at  Grasmere. 

He  wheeled  as  she  came  into  the  room.  "  Lettice,  how 
on  earth  did  you  get  hold  of  this  thing?  " 

She  stopped  dead  for  a  moment,  then  came  on. 

"  I  ordered  it." 

"What  for?" 

"  Because  I'd  seen  something  about  the  accident,  and  I 
wanted  to  know  more.  So  I  went  to  Finch's  at  the  corner 
and  asked  him  to  get  me  the  local  paper,  and  he  did." 

Lettice  had  a  talent  for  explaining  the  obvious. 

"  Where  did  you  see  anything  about  the  accident  ?  " 


43  CONVICT  B14 

"  There  was  a  paragraph  in  my  halfpenny  rag." 

"Confound! "  said  Denis,  black  as  a  thunder-cloud. 

Lettice  smiled,  recovering  her  equanimity  as  he  lost  his. 
"  Well,  you  shouldn't  go  and  make  interesting  things  like 
aeroplanes  and  become  a  public  character,"  she  murmured 
pianissimo. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  knew  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  allowing  her  speakingly  derisive  eyes 
to  retaliate  that  question. 

"  I  couldn't  tell  you  about  it,  it  wasn't  my  affair,"  said 
Denis  hotly  and  confusedly.  "  Gardiner  doesn't  want  the 
story  all  over  the  place.  How  could  I  help  it,  Lettice  ?  But 
when  I  was  talkin*  about  Easedale,  I  think  you  might  have 
let  me  know  you  knew !  " 

"  My  dear  child,  I  couldn't  begin  on  it  if  you  didn't,  could 
I  ?  "  said  Lettice  patiently.  "  I  was  simply  longing  to  ask 
questions.  It  was  nice,  proper,  lady-like  feeling  made  me 
hold  my  tongue,  what  you  always  say  you  like.  And  now 
you're  cross  with  me !  Well,  well." 

Denis  was  cross ;  he  stood  crumpling  the  paper  in  his 
hands,  visibly  fuming.  Lettice  took  it  away  from  him  and 
smoothed  it  out. 

"  I  shan't  talk  about  it  to  Mr.  Gardiner  when  I  come  to 
Rochehaut,  if  that's  what  you're  afraid  of." 

"  Are  you  really  comin'  to  Rochehaut  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  want  me  now  you  know  I  know  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  those  impish  eyes. 

"  You  know  too  much,  Lettice !  "  said  her  cousin,  dis- 
comfited, half  laughing.  She  turned  away  with  her  small 
foreign  shrug. 

"  Dear,  dear !  there's  no  pleasing  some  people !  " 


CHAPTER  VI 
SIC  TRANSIT 

Are  you  the  new  person  drawn  towards  me? 

To  begin  with  take  warning,  I  am  surely  far  different  from  what  you 
suppose. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

ON  a  cold  morning  in  July,  1913,  Lettice  climbed  down 
from  a  Belgian  third-class  carriage,  dragging  her  luggage 
behind  her,  and  found  herself  at  Graide  station,  province 
of  Luxemburg.  Lettice  was  an  expert  in  the  art  of  travel- 
ing cheaply.  She  had  left  Victoria  the  previous  afternoon, 
in  a  slow  train,  because  the  boat  expresses  don't  take  third- 
class  passengers.  After  a  wait  at  Dover,  she  had  crossed 
by  night  in  the  fetid  atmosphere  of  the  second-class  ladies' 
cabin  of  the  old  Rapide,  and  had  been  excessively  ill.  Con- 
tinuing her  journey  at  4  A.M.,  she  had  traveled  to  Brussels 
in  a  smoking  compartment  with  all  the  windows  shut. 
Namur,  Dinant,  Houyet  —  she  lost  count  of  her  changes 
after  that.  Sometimes  she  faced  the  engine ;  more  often  she 
had  to  ride  back ;  once  a  Belgian  pere  de  famille  marched 
across  the  width  of  the  carriage  and  ruthlessly  pulled  up  the 
window,  her  window,  under  her  very  nose.  Always  some- 
body was  smoking,  to  the  usual  accompaniments,  under  the 
notice  "  Niet  Rooken  " ;  and  always,  at  every  change,  she 
had  to  drag  her  heavy  basket  down  steps  and  across  lines 
of  rail  and  heave  it  up  to  racks  far  above  her  aching  head. 
We  buy  our  pleasures  dear  when  we  are  young.  But  this 
was  the  end.  At  Graide  she  was  to  meet  the  diligence  which 
should  land  her  at  the  doors  of  the  Hotel  Bellevue. 

Of  course  there  was  no  porter.  In  those  days  there 
never  were  any  porters  at  a  Belgian  country  station.  If 
you  didn't  expedier  your  baggage  (as  every  self-respecting 


44  CONVICT  B14 

traveler  should),  you  had  to  carry  it  yourself.  Lettice's 
baggage  was  what  is  known  as  a  pilgrim  basket,  gone  at 
the  corners,  with  a  double  strap  which  had  slipped  into  a 
string  round  its  middle,  leaving  the  ends  bulging.  Bend- 
ing to  it  like  a  patient  donkey,  she  trailed  across  the  loose 
gray  gravel  to  the  exit,  and  at  last  was  outside  in  the  road. 
The  Cafe  de  la  Gare  confronted  her,  a  yellow  house  with 
red  facings  and  a  blue  slate  roof.  "  Bureau  de  la  diligence  " 
appeared  on  its  sign,  but  the  customary  shabby,  dirty,  stuffy, 
rickety  ruin  of  a  two-horse  shandrydan  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

"  Pour  Rochehaut,  madame  ?  " 

A  smart  commissionaire  had  seized  her  basket.  Round 
his  cap  in  gilt  lettering  ran  the  words,  "  Hotel  Bellevue." 
Lettice  nodded  distrustfully,  and  in  a  trice  was  whisked 
round  the  corner,  still  clinging  to  her  strap.  Behold  the 
diligence  of  the  Hotel  Bellevue  —  a  brand-new  motor  char-a- 
banc,  glistening  in  tan-colored  varnish !  The  commission- 
aire threw  open  the  door  with  a  flourish  worthy  of  the  boule- 
vards, and  Lettice  subsided  in  a  corner  as  if  her  patient 
knees  had  at  last  given  way. 

In  the  fresh  air  she  presently  revived  enough  to  take  notice 
of  her  fellow-travelers.  There  were  two,  both  women,  the 
elder  obviously  a  maid.  Lettice  had  seen  them  before,  at 
Dinant,  descending  from  a  venture-salon  with  a  porter  in 
attendance,  and  had  marked  them  with  a  malevolent  eye, 
having  tried  in  vain  to  secure  that  porter  herself.  But  even 
without  that  memory  she  would  have  noticed  the  younger 
of  the  two. 

She  was  a  tall  slip  of  a  girl,  scarcely  out  of  her  teens,  but 
not  dressed  like  an  ingenue.  Her  French  hat,  her  furs,  her 
gloves,  the  exquisite  cloth  of  her  suit,  all  her  traveling  ap- 
pointments might  have  belonged  to  a  married  woman  of 
thirty.  Yet  she  was  not  married,  for  there  was  no  wedding 
ring  among  the  diamonds  on  her  finger,  and  Lettice,  whose 
eyes  were  as  good  as  opera-glasses,  could  read  the  label  on 
the  gold-mounted  dressing-case  in  the  rack  above  her  head  — 
Miss  D.  M.  O'Connor,  Hotel  Bellevue.  She  looked  fragile, 


SIC  TRANSIT  45 

as  if  recovering  from  an  illness,  and  her  figure  was  still 
slender  and  undeveloped;  but  she  had  masses  of  exquisitely 
glossy  dark  hair,  and  great  dark  eyes,  full  of  fire  and  gloom. 
Young  though  she  was,  she  knew  how  to  get  herself  obeyed. 
When  she  scowled  (and  she  could  scowl,  with  those  black 
brows),  even  a  Belgian  porter  came  to  attention.  Lettice 
was  wondering  what  it  was  that  had  set  her  at  odds  with 
the  world,  and  written  such  bitterness  on  the  small,  brooding 
face,  when  the  dark  eyes  looked  up  and  met  hers  with  a 
smile,  sudden  and  child-like,  which  had  just  the  effect  of  a 
sunburst  over  a  gloomy  landscape. 

But  before  she  could  speak  the  unsociable  Lettice  hurriedly 
averted  her  eyes  and  blotted  herself  in  her  corner.  She 
make  talk  with  a  stranger  for  an  hour,  and  begin  an  ac- 
quaintance which  would  have  to  be  continued,  with  smiles 
and  remarks  about  the  weather,  every  time  they  chanced  to 
meet  in  the  hotel  ?  No,  thank  you !  The  most  interesting 
character  study  was  not  worth  that.  Lettice  would  have 
walked  a  couple  of  miles  any  day  to  avoid  a  chance  ac- 
quaintance. 

Miss  O'Connor  stared,  half  incredulous;  then  the  clouds 
came  down  again  with  a  vengeance,  and  she  turned  her  back 
on  the  ungrateful  Lettice  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 
They  were  passing  down  a  straight  road  between  long  strips 
of  arable  land,  wheat,  potatoes,  cabbages,  beets,  fenceless 
and  flat  as  a  table;  and  with  the  road  went  an  avenue  of 
trees,  each  lopped  to  a  mop-head  atop  of  its  naked  stem, 
crawling  away  like  a  green  caterpillar  to  the  limit  of  sight. 
In  the  distance  a  tiny  white  church  raised  a  gray  conical  spire 
like  an  extinguisher ;  a  group  of  white  and  gray  dolls'-houses 
clustered  below,  drowsily  basking,  blue  haze  and  brown  dust, 
under  the  hazy  sky. 

"  Louisa !    What  time  do  we  get  to  Rochehaut  ?  " 
"  Half-past  twelve  the  book  said,  Miss  Dot." 
"  Which  means  half-past  one,  I  suppose,"  said  Dorothea 
O'Connor  in  her  caustic  young  voice.     They  were  speaking 
in  undertones,  but  Lettice,  whose  ears  were  as  sharp  as  her 
eyes,  could  not  help   hearing  every  word.     "This  is  the 


46  CONVICT  B14 

most  hatefully  ugly  place  I've  ever  seen.  Of  course  one 
expects  advertisements  to  lie,  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
overdoing  it." 

When  Dorothea  was  annoyed,  she  let  it  be  known. 
Louisa,  faithful  soul,  bowed  her  head  before  the  storm ;  but 
she  paid  about  as  much  attention  as  to  the  rages  of  a  child. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Dot  dear,  I  wish  you'd  leave  this  dreadful 
heathen  country  and  come  back  to  England  !  " 

"  I'm  coming  back  to  England  when  I've  done  what  I 
want,  and  not  before."  There  was  a  pleasing  vigor  and1 
directness  in  Dorothea's  statements.  "  I'm  sorry  for  you, 
Louisa,  but  after  all  you'll  be  able  to  get  a  cup  of  real  Eng- 
lish tea  at  the  Bellevue  —  all  the  advertisements  said  so !  " 

"  Tisn't  tea  I'm  thinking  of,  Miss  Dot,  but  this  dreadful 
wicked  idea  of  yours.  Deceiving  your  dear  kind  uncle  and 
all  — " 

"  It's  no  business  of  Uncle  Jack's  what  I  do,  and  if  I 
don't  tell  him  it's  only  because  I  don't  want  him  to  be 
bothered."  Louisa  sighed  and  shook  her  head.  *'  I  won't 
be  moaned  at,"  Dorothea  declared,  with  an  inimical  flash. 
"  No,  and  I  won't  be  prayed  at  either !  I've  told  you,  you 
can  go  home  if  you  like;  but  if  you  stay,  you'll  just  have 
to  resign  yourself,  because  I  am  going  through  with  it  —  I 
should  despise  myself  for  ever  and  ever  if  I  didn't !  There : 
is  that  plain  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Dot,  you  have  shook  your  hat  so  crooked ! " 
was  Louisa's  earnest  reply.  Dorothea  laughed,  as  she  sub- 
mitted to  have  it  set  straight. 

"  I  rather  hate  you  sometimes,  Louisa  darling,  you  make 
me  feel  such  a  brute,"  she  said,  "  but  I'm  going  on,  all  the 
same.  Dear  me,  is  this  place  an  example  of  the  unsur- 
passed view,  I  wonder?  It'll  add  a  fresh  joy  to  Rochehaut 
if  there's  an  outbreak  of  typhoid!  " 

They  were  passing  through  the  village  which  in  the  dis- 
tance had  looked  so  trim.  Set  well  back  from  the  road  on 
either  side  was  a  row  of  white  houses ;  before  each  house,  a 
midden,  foursquare ;  before  the  middens,  a  gutter,  running 
auburn;  between  the  gutters,  the  main  street,  down  which 


SIC  TRANSIT  47 

the  omnibus  had  to  pass.  Dorothea,  her  face  buried  in  her 
handkerchief,  was  rummaging  her  bag  impatiently  for  a  bot- 
tle of  lavender  salts,  when  something  made  her  glance  at  her 
fellow-traveler.  Lettice  was  no  longer  gray,  she  was  green, 
and  trying  weakly  to  unfasten  her  veil.  Suddenly  her  sur- 
prised and  unyielding  waist  was  clasped  by  a  peremptory 
arm,  and  the  lavender  salts  were  thrust  under  her  nose. 

"  How  many  hatpins  have  you  ?  —  oh,  here's  the  last. 
Move  my  things  off  the  seat,  Louisa.  Now  put  your  head 
down  on  these  rugs ;  that's  better.  We  shall  be  out  of  this 
hateful  village  directly." 

The  amazed  Lettice  found  herself  laid  flat  on  the  cushions. 
Automatically  she  rose  up,  reacting  like  a  bent  twig;  in- 
stantly she  was  pressed  back  again. 

"  No,  you  must  lie  still.  I  saw  you  at  Brussels,  looking 
as  ill  as  ill,  even  then.  Are  you  ill,  or  is  it  only  the  travel- 
ing that's  upset  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  bad  crossing,"  said  Lettice,  in  a  tone  that  was 
almost  surly. 

"  A  bad  crossing  ?  You  came  over  last  night  ?  Then  I 
don't  wonder  at  anything.  My  flask,  Louisa  —  no,  that's 
the  eau-de-Cologne,  how  stupid  you  are !  I'm  going  to  give 
you  a  liqueur;  brandy's  hateful,  and  no  good  at  all,  but  a 
curagao  does  pull  you  together.  Open  your  mouth  —  that's 
right  — " 

Lettice  had  opened  her  mouth  to  say  she  did  not  like 
liqueurs,  but  she  was  given  no  time ;  her  zealous  nurse  im- 
mediately poured  the  dose  down  her  throat.  This  was  an 
outrage  —  it  was  forcible  feeding  —  and  on  Lettice,  of  all 
people !  Lettice,  who  could  not  bear  so  much  as  to  be 
touched  against  her  will!  Coughing  in  the  most  lady-like 
way,  pink  with  choking  and  with  injured  dignity,  she  pre- 
sented a  pathetic  sight  for  any  one  with  eyes  to  see.  Dor- 
othea had  none. 

"  You  aren't  one  bit  fit  to  be  going  about  alone  and  look- 
ing after  yourself,"  she  said,  in  a  mixture  of  severity  and 
solicitude.  "  You  ought  to  be  in  bed !  Are  you  cold  ?  — 
why,  your  hands  are  like  lumps  of  ice !  My  cloak,  Louisa. 


48  CONVICT  B14 

When  we  get  to  the  hotel  you  shall  have  a  hot  bottle  and  111 
see  after  you  properly.  No,  don't  try  to  talk." 

Hitherto  Lettice  had  expressed  no  gratitude,  but  now, 
having  been  told  to  keep  silence,  she  said  "  Thank  you," 
in  a  tone  of  acid  obstinacy.  It  is  trying  to  be  done  good 
to  against  your  will.  Nobody  had  ever  before  attempted 
such  a  liberty  with  Lettice.  Denis  might  lecture,  but  he 
never  dreamed  of  enforcing  his  advice ;  while  her  own  sis- 
ters would  have  laughed  at  the  possibility.  "  Make  Lettice 
do  what  she  doesn't  choose  ?  "  cried  Rosabel.  "  You  might 
just  as  well  argue  with  the  leg  of  that  table! " 

Lettice,  of  course,  did  not  agree  with  them;  she  consid- 
ered herself  to  be  of  a  yielding  disposition,  bordering  on 
flabbiness ;  but  there  are  things  the  meekest  cannot  stand. 
The  moment  Dorothea's  back  was  turned  she  rose  up  and 
put  on  her  hat  again.  After  that  she  felt  happier,  if  less 
comfortable.  Lettice  was  one  of  those  persons  who  are 
never  really  happy  when  they  are  comfortable;  instinctive 
dread  of  slackness  (springing  by  rebound  from  innate  love 
of  luxury)  drove  her  to  deny  her  body  in  order  to  ease  her 
soul.  Certainly  her  body  was  not  at  ease.  Violent  reme- 
dies did  not  suit  her.  It  might  have  been  the  curagao,  or 
the  insult,  or  both  of  them  together,  but  her  sensations  were 
growing  acute. 

She  saw  nothing  when  they  plunged  into  a  rick  dark  green 
valley  of  woods.  She  was  blind  to  the  silvery  splendors  of 
distant  hills  and  river.  They  turned  into  a  wide  courtyard 
and  drew  up.  Lettice  saw  only  that  the  Hotel  Bellevue  had 
many  piazzas  and  balconies,  all  full  of  people,  all  watching 
the  arrival  of  the  coach.  Dorothea  descended  on  one  side. 
Her  patient  slipped  out  on  the  other  and  made  towards  the 
door. 

"Why,  Lettice!" 

It  was  Denis,  who  had  sprung  out  of  his  chair  and  was 
advancing  towards  her,  smiling,  as  the  phrase  goes,  all  over 
his  face.  Lettice,  while  wishing  him  at  Jericho,  produced 
an  answering  smile. 

"  Well,"  said  she. 


SIC  TRANSIT  49 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  coming?  You  said 
you  meant  to  spend  the  night  in  Brussels !  You  might  have 
sent  a  wire !  " 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Lettice,  still  edging  towards  the  door. 
She  wished  he  would  not  stand  directly  in  the  way.  Denis 
at  last  began  to  perceive  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  Did  you  have  a  bad  crossing  ?  You're  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow,  my  dear  girl  — " 

Lettice  suddenly  swerved  past  him  and  almost  ran  to- 
wards the  house.  As  she  reached  the  door  another  dense 
and  solid  person  came  out,  and  got  hopelessly  in  the  way.  A 
delay  at  such  a  moment  .  .  .  well,  if  it  had  been  anybody  in 
the  world  but  Lettice  .  .  .  and  even  as  it  was  .  .  . 

"  Good  Lord !  "  said  Denis. 

The  new-comer,  who  was  Harry  Gardiner,  turned  with 
commendable  presence  of  mind  and  rang  for  a  maid. 
"  Show  this  lady  to  her  room — " 

"  And  take  her  a  cup  of  tea  at  once,"  finished  Dorothea, 
coming  up  breathless  to  resume  command.  "  I'll  see  to  her 
myself  in  a  moment." 

Lettice's  last  thought,  as  she  hid  her  shame  within  the 
house,  was  that  she  must  on  no  account  forget  to  lock  her 
door. 


CHAPTER  VII 
AUBADE 

Why  should  a  heart  have  been  there, 
In  the  way  of  a  fair  woman's  foot? 

E.  B.  BROWNING. 

THE  house  was  asleep.  The  white  corridor  was  filled  with 
blue  reflections  of  the  sky,  from  the  French  window  open 
at  its  north  end ;  but  the  blind  of  the  south  window  opposite 
glowed  golden,  and  streaks  of  sunlight  slipped  in,  slanting 
up  the  wall.  The  house  was  asleep,  every  one  was  asleep 
except  the  sun,  who  had  just  risen  to  his  beneficent  work, 
rejoicing  as  a  giant  to  run  his  course.  Denis's  kitten  (he 
had  saved  her  from  some  boys  who  wanted  to  drown  her  in 
the  river)  poked  her  small  black  inquiring  nose  round  the 
glass  door,  and  scampered  in  to  play  with  the  vine-leaf 
shadows  dancing  on  the  wall.  She  patted  them  with  velvet 
paw,  crouched  with  tail  lashing  for  a  spring,  reared  up  and 
fell  over  sideways  and  scuffled  round  and  round  on  her  back, 
clawing  and  biting  her  own  tail. 

There  Gardiner  saw  her  when  he  too  came  in  from  the 
balcony,  walking  in  his  socks  and  carrying  his  wading  boots. 
He  scooped  her  up  in  one  hand  and  bore  her  down  the  cor- 
ridor to  Denis's  room.  No  one  answering  his  tap,  he 
walked  in.  A  small  white  chamber,  facing  west ;  the  cur- 
tain drawn  back  from  the  open  lattice,  and  Denis  lying 
asleep  beneath.  Everything  about  him  was  sternly  neat. 
His  clothes  were  folded  on  a  chair,  his  boots  stood  side 
by  side,  his  Bible  and  Prayer  Book  lay  on  the  window-ledge 
at  the  bed's  head.  The  wind  had  blown  back  the  cover,  and 
Gardiner  stooped  to  read  the  inscription.  "  Denis  Arthur 
Merion-Smith,  from  his  Affectionate  Father,  March  4, 
50 


AUBADE  51 

1897  " — the  date  of  his  confirmation.  Underneath,  the  ref- 
erence I  Tim.  v.  22.  Gardiner  with  unscrupulous  curiosity 
turned  the  pages  till  he  found  the  verse,  underscored: 
"  Keep  thyself  pure."  He  stood  looking  at  his  friend's  un- 
conscious face  with  something  of  envy.  He  was  never  in 
doubt  as  to  the  relative  worth  of  himself  and  Denis. 

"  Mrrreow !  "  said  the  kitten,  suddenly  biting  and  kicking 
in  earnest.  Gardiner  dropped  her  on  the  sleeper,  and 
laughed  to  see  his  violent  start. 

"  Come  on  fishing,  lazy  brute !  " 

"  What,  now  ?  "  asked  Denis,  rubbing  his  eyes  and  sooth- 
ing the  kitten  at  the  same  time. 

"  Yes,  now,  pronto,  this  instant.  I've  wasted  the  prime 
of  the  morning  already,  because  I  knew  I  shouldn't  be 
able  to  drag  you  out  of  your  bed  before." 

"  All  right,  I'm  on,"  said  Denis  with  disarming  amiability. 
Gardiner  left  him  feeding  the  kitten  with  biscuits,  and  went 
down  to  his  larders,  which  he  knew  as  well  as  any  careful 
housewife.  He  secured  some  of  yesterday's  croissants,  but- 
ter in  a  china  pot,  sliced  ham,  half-a-dozen  shrimp  patties,  a 
pocketful  of  pears ;  he  boiled  up  coffee  on  an  electric  stove 
to  fill  his  flask,  and  was  ready  to  join  Denis  in  the  courtyard. 

Just  after  four :  the  morning  blue  and  gold  and  breathless 
still.  They  came  into  the  road  which  runs  embanked  along 
the  heights  of  Rochehaut,  and  paused  at  the  parapet.  Deep 
the  cleft  of  the  valley,  rich  in  forests,  dropping  sheer  to  the 
river  —  and  what  a  river!  The  Semois,  on  a  map,  looks 
like  a  dislocated  corkscrew ;  she  twists  and  she  turns,  tying 
herself  into  S's  and  W's,  running  impartially  north,  south, 
east,  and  west  among  her  maze  of  hills.  Here  at  the  foot  of 
the  cliffs  of  Rochehaut  she  sweeps  a  long  loop  at  the  be- 
holder, inclosing  in  her  slender  silver  arms  a  long,  long 
narrow  peninsula  of  hills  which  swell  up  to  end  in  a  rounded 
baby  mountain  immediately  below.  This  is  Frahan.  The 
ends  of  the  loop  run  far  away  out  of  sight  among  the  hills, 
incurving  so  that  you  would  swear  they  must  meet  some- 
where in  the  chaos  of  dim  peaks  on  the  horizon.  The  sun 
from  behind  the  watchers  was  faintly  gilding  the  velvety 


52  CONVICT  B14 

gray-green  crest  of  the  peninsula,  and  the  tiny  church  of 
Frahan,  on  its  flank,  gleamed  like  an  ivory  toy ;  but  the  river 
cleft  was  still  deep  in  hyacinthine  shadows,  veiled  in  the 
gauzes  of  the  mists,  drenched  with  the  gray-silver  of  the 
dews. 

The  fishermen  found  a  winding  path  which  led  them  to 
the  river,  and  turned  down-stream,  fishing  and  wading.  Of 
all  the  lovely  daughters  of  the  Meuse  the  Semois  is  the  love- 
liest. The  Lesse,  issuing  cold  and  mysterious  from  the  cav- 
erns of  Han,  has  been  insulted  by  a  railway ;  the  Ambleve  is 
gloomy  with  dark  bowlders  and  wild  monotonous  hills ;  the 
turbulent  Ourthe,  beautiful  among  the  mountains  in  the 
ravine  of  Sy,  is  elsewhere  spoilt  by  quarries  and  by  tourists. 
But  the  Semois  is  never  gloomy ;  she  seems  to  hold  the  sun- 
shine in  her  golden  sands.  You  may  follow  her  wrigglings 
for  a  whole  morning  and  see  no  road,  no  tilth,  no  sign  of 
human  handiwork  save  the  very  primitive  cart  track  which 
conducts  you  impartially  beside  the  water  and  through  it. 

A  slab  of  rock,  embedded  in  the  turf,  served  as  their 
breakfast-table.  A  wall  of  limestone  rose  behind,  graced 
with  ferns  and  mosses  and  the  delicate  carmine  leaflets  of  the 
wild  geranium.  Fallen  bowlders  shelved  half  across  the 
stream,  which  surged  round  them  in  a  ruff,  or  slid  past  like 
thin  crystal.  What  richness  of  color  everywhere !  They 
could  see  the  river  dancing  towards  them  down  the  green 
and  smiling  valley,  bluer  than  the  sky,  a-sparkle  with  dia- 
monds, beset  with  flowers  —  forget-me-nots,  the  tender  lilac 
crocus  of  the  autumn,  yellow  lilies  on  a  pool  where  the 
Semois  condescended  for  a  moment  to  lie  still.  The  woods 
were  green  as  sycamores  in  May.  A  kingfisher  swept  by, 
tropically  brilliant.  On  the  purple  mint  at  the  water's  edge 
a  great  butterfly  sat  poised,  pivoting  round  the  flower-head, 
stiffly  opening  and  closing  its  gorgeous,  downy  wings  of 
scarlet,  black,  and  white. 

"  Talk  to  me  of  your  beastly  England !  "  said  Gardiner, 
flat  on  his  back  in  the  grass.  "  A  man  can  breathe  here. 
Look  at  those  trees  —  none  of  your  spindly  copses  with  the 
sky  showing  through  on  the  other  side,  but  good  solid  cut- 


AUBADE  53 

and-come-again  forest,  for  leagues  on  end !  I  could  say  my 
prayers  to  a  forest." 

"  It's  good  fishin',"  said  Denis,  more  intent  on  his  catch 
than  on  the  scenery.  The  Ourthe  may  brag  of  its  salmon, 
but  the  Semois  has  noble  trout.  "  Better  than  it  was  at 
Grasmere." 

"  Oh,  Grasmere.  .  .  ." 

Gardiner's  face  was  not  expressive,  but  his  voice  told 
Denis  that  he  was  back  among  scenes  which  by  common 
consent  they  had  not  mentioned  before,  and  which  Denis 
had  no  wish  ever  to  mention  again.  He  saw  what  he  had 
brought  on  himself,  and  blessed  his  blundering  tongue.  Sure 
enough,  after  some  pause  the  younger  man  asked : 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  any  more  of  Mrs.  Trent  after  I  left?  " 

"  A  little,  from  Scott,"  Denis  unwillingly  admitted. 

"  From  Scott?    Did  he  write  to  you,  then?  " 

"  No,  I  saw  him." 

"Where?    In  town?" 

"  At  Westby." 

"  You  saw  Scott  at  Westby?" 

"  I  spent  a  week-end  with  him  there  last  November,"  said 
Denis  stiffly.  "  He  asked  me  when  we  were  at  Easedale. 
He's  a  nice  little  chap.  I  like  him." 

"  Well,  I'm  hanged !  "  said  Gardiner,  settling  back  his 
head,  which  he  had  lifted  to  stare  at  his  friend.  "  You  talk 
too  much  about  your  own  affairs,  Denis,  that's  what's  the 
matter  with  you.  Go  on.  What  did  he  tell  you  about  Mrs. 
Trent?" 

"  He  said  she'd  not  made  at  all  a  good  recovery ;  after 
leavin'  Easedale  she'd  to  go  to  a  nursing  home  in  town,  and 
from  there  she  sent  him  down  a  cross  and  candlesticks  for 
the  prison  chapel.  Scott  was  quite  set  up  about  it,  he's  a 
ritualistic  little  chap;  and  I  suppose  they  were  handsome 
enough  if  you  like  such  things,  I  don't  — " 

"  My  good  Denis,  what  have  I  to  do  with  crosses  and 
candlesticks  ?  Did  he  say  she  said  anything  about  me  ?  " 

"  He  did,"  said  Denis,  more  unwillingly  than  ever.  "  He 
said  she  asked  for  your  address." 


54  CONVICT  B14, 

"  Oh,  confound  — !     Did  he  give  it?  " 

"He  had  to.  He  said  it  was  no  use  refusin',  as  she'd 
easily  have  got  it  out  of  any  one  else." 

"  He  said  that,  did  he  ?  Confound  him  too !  I  seem  to 
have  left  several  loose  ends  over  this  affair.  Was  that  all 
he  told  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  After  she  wrote  with  the  things  he  heard  no 
more." 

"  I  wonder  why  she  wanted  my  address,"  said  Gardiner, 
frowning.  "  Well,  I  suppose  it  must  be  all  right  —  after  all 
this  time." 

He  pulled  at  his  pipe  in  silence.  Happening  to  glance 
at  Denis,  he  surprised  that  look  of  distaste  and  repugnance 
which  he  had  never  seen  on  his  friend's  face  before  Easedale. 
Gardiner  was  not  fond  of  owning  himself  in  the  wrong; 
few  men  are,  and  he  less  than  most.  But  he  spoke  out  now 
on  impulse. 

"  Look  here,  Denis,  I  know  very  well  I  ought  to  have 
owned  up.  I  knew  it  at  the  time,  but  I  was  too  beastly 
scared !  —  and  that's  the  plain  truth.  It  was  the  idea  of 
prison ;  for  the  moment  it  knocked  all  the  stuffing  out  of  me 
—  you  needn't  think  I  admire  myself.  And  to  drag  you 
into  it  as  well  —  oh,  it  was  a  rotten  business !  " 

"  You  didn't  drag  me,  I  dragged  myself,"  said  Denis 
quickly.  "If  anybiddy  was  to  blame,  it  was  I." 

"  You !  You'll  be  telling  me  you  killed  him  next.  No, 
it's  my  own  funeral  —  and  I've  been  such  a  concentrated  ass 
over  it,  that's  what  gets  me !  If  I'd  told  the  truth  at  once, 
there  would  have  been  practically  no  bother,  I'm  certain  of 
it.  I  could  have  done  it  then ;  afterwards,  at  the  inquest, 
when  I  wanted  to,  it  was  too  late.  I  couldn't  tell  the  tale 
without  its  point;  and  I  couldn't  tell  that  particular  point 
when  that  unhappy  little  thing  had  lost  both  her  husband  and 
her  kid.  No,  I  don't  consider  myself  to  shine  in  this  affair, 
either  in  morals  or  intelligence." 

"  It  was  I  began  it,"  said  Denis  obstinately. 

Gardiner  shrugged  his  shoulders;  what  was  the  use  of 
contradiction?  Denis  was  mending  a  fly;  and  by  the  happy 


AUBADE  55 

clearing  of  his  face  it  was  plain  that  he  was  also  busy  mend- 
ing his  ideal  and  setting  it  back  on  its  pedestal  with  an  added 
glory.  There  is  no  surer  way  of  earning  a  man's  esteem 
than  by  begging  his  pardon.  All  Gardiner's  faults  were 
hidden  under  this  new  coat  of  gilding.  "  You're  an  incur- 
able idealist,  my  good  Denis,"  he  said  to  himself,  watching 
the  process  of  rehabilitation.  "  You  idealize  me  on  the  one 
hand,  and  that  inoffensive  but  very  ordinary  little  cousin 
of  yours  on  the  other.  Lord  send  you  never  find  us  out,  for 
you'll  break  your  knees  badly  when  you  do !  "  The  un- 
deserved good  opinion  of  a  friend  makes  a  thorny  bed.  Yet, 
though  Gardiner  did  not  see  it,  he  was  moving  towards  the 
fulfillment  of  his  friend's  conception  of  his  character.  That 
is  the  worst  of  idealists  —  they  shame  us  into  acting  up  to 
their  ideas ! 

Denis  was  a  devout  fisherman.  As  soon  as  he  had  fin- 
ished the  fly  he  started  off  again,  wading  round  the  bend 
out  of  sight.  Gardiner,  who  fished  only  because  any  sport 
was  better  than  none,  stayed  where  he  was.  Minutes  passed. 
He  was  nearly  asleep  when  some  one  hailed  him.  At  first 
he  thought  it  was  Denis,  and  took  no  notice ;  but  the  voice 
becoming  insistent,  he  opened  one  eye,  and  immediately 
sprang  up.  It  was  Miss  O'Connor,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river. 

She  made  a  trumpet  of  her  hands  and  shouted  some 
question,  but  the  Semois  drowned  her  words.  Gardiner 
was  wearing  the  orthodox  Ardennes  waders,  which  begin 
as  boots  and  continue  as  shiny  waterproof  breeches  right 
up  to  the  waist,  so  it  was  nothing  for  him  to  splash  across  to 
the  farther  shore.  (It  may  be  mentioned  that  Denis  stuck 
obstinately  to  his  English  boots,  which  came  scarcely  higher 
than  his  knee ;  with  the  result  that  he  got  very  wet,  for  the 
Semois  came  considerably  higher  than  his  knee.) 

Dorothea  was  wearing  a  short  tweed  skirt  with  leather 
buttons;  square-toed,  solid  brown  brogues;  a  white  shirt,  a 
tan  belt,  and  a  brown  tie  to  match.  She  was  hatless,  and 
her  hair,  smooth,  parted,  and  rippling  over  her  ears,  was 
glossy  as  a  Frenchwoman's.  Her  face,  which  had  lost  its 


56  CONVICT  B14 

fragility,  was  softly,  evenly  brown;  her  lips,  a  veritable 
cupid's  bow,  were  cherry-red.  They  were  drawn  straight  as 
she  looked  at  Gardiner,  and  her  manner  was  distant. 

"  I  took  you  for  a  woodcutter,  or  I  should  not  have  dis- 
turbed you,"  she  said.  "  I  wished  to  ask  if  there  is  a  way 
back  along  the  river." 

"  Well,  there  is,"  said  Gardiner,  looking  down  at  the  ruts 
under  their  feet,  "  and  you're  on  it.  If  you  follow  this 
track,  it  will  bring  you  straight  to  Rochehaut." 

"  But  it  goes  through  the  water." 

•'  It  does." 

"  Must  I  go  through  the  water,  then  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  like  to  make  a  bee-line  up  through  the  forest 
to  Botassart.  It's  nearly  perpendicular,  and  miles  out  of 
your  way." 

"  Very  inconvenient,"  said  Dorothea  displeasedly.  "  Why 
isn't  there  a  ferry  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see  this  track  isn't  much  used,  except  by  the 
timber  wagons.  It  won't  be  above  your  knees,  if  you'll 
allow  me  to  show  you  the  way ;  this  is  a  regular  ford.  But 
perhaps  you'd  rather  I  retired  round  the  bend  ? " 

"  That  will  not  be  necessary,"  she  said,  more  frigidly  than 
ever,  and  without  more  ado  went  behind  a  bush  to  take  off 
her  shoes  and  stockings.  Gardiner  thought  her  very  pretty 
and  rather  ridiculous,  and  wondered  if  he  were  called  on  to 
see  her  home.  He  decided  that  he  was  not.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  by  all  the  laws  of  romance  he  ought  to  carry  her 
across ;  but  he  decided  again  that  nature  had  not  cut  him  out 
for  the  part.  No  true  hero  should  be  half-an-inch  shorter 
than  the  heroine ;  and  certainly  none  has  ever  been  known 
to  drop  a  lady  in  the  middle  of  a  river. 

Dorothea  appeared  barefoot,  and  motioned  him  im- 
periously to  lead  the  way.  They  stepped  into  the  clear, 
shallow  water,  scattering  a  cloud  of  tiny  fishes.  As  they 
advanced,  Dorothea's  skirts  bunched  up  higher  and  higher. 
If  Gardiner  had  not  kept  his  eyes  delicately  averted,  he 
might  have  had  a  glimpse,  and  more  than  a  glimpse,  of  cer- 
tain tweed  garments  that  were  not  a  part  of  her  skirt.  The 


AUBADE  57 

Semois,  though  shallow,  is  very  swift.  Midway  across  the 
golden  pebbles  were  succeeded  by  slabs  of  gray-green  rock, 
tressed  with  weed.  Gardiner  heard  a  small  exclamation,  and 
turned  just  in  time  to  save  his  companion  from  measuring 
her  length  in  the  river.  His  arm  went  round  the  slim  figure, 
so  soft  and  pliant,  with  no  more  sentiment  than  if  it  had 
been  a  boy.  But  she  —  her  color  flamed  as  she  was  thrown 
against  him ;  she  dropped  her  skirts  and  clutched  his  arm  to 
push  him  away. 

"  Steady !  "  said  Gardiner,  "  or  you'll  have  us  both  over. 
These  stones  are  as  slippery  as  glass." 

"I  —  trod  on  something  sharp,"  said  Dorothea  in  a 
strangled  voice.  She  stood  there  with  her  skirts  in  the 
water,  still  holding  him  off  with  both  hands. 

"  Hurt  yourself?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Sure  ?  Will  you  take  my  arm  for  a  bit  ?  "  said  Gardiner, 
puzzled  by  her  unaccountable  emotion. 

She  shook  her  head  again,  and  stumbled  after  him  to  the 
shore.  There  she  sat  down  on  the  stone  which  had  been 
their  table,  to  put  on  her  shoes  and  stockings  while  he  col- 
lected his  possessions.  He  gave  her  plenty  of  time,  as  he 
thought,  yet  when  he  turned  she  was  still  sitting  there,  with 
one  foot  bare  on  the  grass.  Across  the  instep,  blanched 
alabaster  white  by  the  water,  ran  a  crimson  gash. 

"  Hullo !  you  have  damaged  yourself,"  said  Gardiner. 
"  You  ought  to  have  something  between  that  and  the  stock- 
ing, if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  so.  Got  a  handkerchief?" 

"  I've  lost  it,"  she  said  without  looking  up. 

"  Have  mine,  then."  He  held  it  out ;  she  made  no  move- 
ment. "  May  I  do  it  for  you  ?  " 

After  a  brief  incomprehensible  hesitation,  she  murmured : 
"  Please."  More  and  more  puzzled,  Gardiner  knelt  down 
and  took  her  foot  in  his  hand.  It  was  a  bad  cut,  but  not 
very  bad ;  some  women  would  have  made  nothing  of  it ;  he 
was  glad  she  belonged  to  the  more  feminine  type.  He 
washed  away  the  gravel  and  fixed  a  neat  bandage,  Dorothea 
sitting  passive.  But  he  could  feel  that  she  was  conscious 


58  CONVICT  B14 

of  him ;  and  he  became  acutely  conscious  of  her.  When  it 
was  done,  she  murmured  something  which  might  have  been 
supposed  to  be  thanks,  slipped  half  her  foot  into  her  shoe 
and  stood  up. 

"  You'll  never  get  home  at  that  rate.     Let  me  help  you," 
said  Gardiner,  watching  her  attempt  to  shuffle  along. 
"I  —  I  think  I  can  manage.     Is  it  far  ?  " 
"  Twenty  minutes'  walk,  and  shocking  bad  going." 
"  I  shall  be  taking  you  out  of  your  way." 
"  Not  a  bit  of  it.     It's  time  I  got  back  too." 
"  But  your  friend  —  I  saw  him  fishing  up  the  stream." 
"  Oh,  he's  old  enough  to  play  by  himself,"  said  Gardiner 
easily,  his  keenness  growing  in  proportion  to  her  reluct- 
ance.    (It  may  be  said  that  Denis,  when  he  returned,  spent 
half-an-hour  hunting  for  his  friend  before  he  decided  to 
follow  him  home.     Thus  does  Love  elbow  Friendship  out 
of  the  way.)     "  Don't  you  want  me  to  help  you?  "  he  added 
bluntly.     "  Do  you  object  to  me  personally?     Shall  I  cut  on 
home  and  send  your  maid  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  said  Dorothea  hurriedly,  and  thereupon  took 
his  arm.  Gardiner  had  what  he  wanted,  and  a  little  more ; 
•heavens !  what  was  the  matter  with  the  girl  ?  She  was  shak- 
ing all  over,  an  electric  battery  of  emotion ;  the  strong  cur- 
rent of  her  trouble  and  indecision  thrilled  him  in  every 
nerve.  More  than  that,  he  was  left  in  no  doubt  that  he  him- 
self was  the  cause  of  her  agitation. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  ascetic  in  Gardiner;  he  was 
warm-blooded  and  inflammable,  as  he  had  already  found 
to  his  cost.  Since  he  could  not  get  away  from  his  tempera- 
ment, he  got  round  it,  by  avoiding  women,  and  by  keeping 
any  necessary  intercourse  free  from  the  first  beginnings  of 
sentiment.  As  his  will  was  stronger  than  his  passions,  ex- 
cept when  they  got  out  of  hand  and  were  running  away,  this 
plan  had  worked  well.  But  he  could  not  avoid  Dorothea; 
and  when  she  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm  she  undid 
the  work  of  years,  and  stirred  ashes  into  flame.  Passion, 
unlike  love,  is  a  sudden  growth,  and  it  was  passion  he  felt : 
that  inexplicable  force  which  draws  men  and  women  to- 


AUBADE  59 

gether,  often  in  defiance  of  every  natural  taste  and  senti- 
ment. The  situation  was  alluring.  Dorothea  was  not 
merely  a  pretty  girl,  she  was  a  personage,  as  she  had  very 
soon  made  known  in  the  hotel;  a  star  far  away  in  the  sky 
above  Gardiner's  head.  Yet  the  touch  of  his  hand  set  her 
shaking  like  a  reed.  Gardiner  was  not  coxcomb  enough  to 
imagine  that  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  his  fine  eyes ;  but 
he  was  prepared  to  stake  his  soul  that  for  some  undiscov- 
erable  reason  she  was  half  afraid  of  him.  What  man  could 
resist  that  lure? 

It  was  not  a  long  journey  to  the  Bellevue,  but  it  was 
eventful ;  for  things  move  fast  in  the  campaigns  of  the  heart. 
Gardiner  did  not  capitulate  without  a  struggle.  "  You  ass, 
you  don't  want  an  affair  of  this  sort  on  your  hands,  par- 
ticularly not  with  one  of  your  own  boarders,"  he  told  him- 
self. "  You  preposterous  ass,  go  slow ! "  And  paid  as 
much  heed  as  men  in  such  circumstances  usually  do  to  their 
own  wisdom.  "  I  can  resist  everything  except  temptation  " 
—  the  phrase  flitted  ruefully  through  his  mind.  He  was 
trying  hard  to  convince  himself  that  Dorothea's  tremors  were 
not  necessarily  flattering,  when  they  came  out  of  the  woods 
into  the  road,  in  view  of  the  hotel. 

Dorothea  stood  still. 

"I  —  I  think  I'd  rather  manage  the  rest  alone,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

Gardiner  started,  dropped  her  arm,  stepped  back  out  of 
sight  among  the  trees. 

"  Of  course.  You  naturally  would.  I  ought  to  have  un- 
derstood before." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that !  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  you  did.     It  would  hardly  do,  would  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no ! "  cried  Dorothea.  She  hesitated ;  he 
could  see  her  visibly  struggling  with  herself ;  then  she  raised 
her  head.  Whatever  quinine  of  common-sense  he  might 
administer  to  himself,  there  was  no  possibility  of  mistaking 
the  expression  in  those  pansy-brown  eyes.  She  might  have 
wavered  before ;  she  had  made  up  her  mind  now. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  said.     "  I  never  thought  of  such 


60  CONVICT  B14 

a  thing.  It  was  only  that  —  that  —  people  do  talk,  if  they 
see  things  —  and  suppose  you  asked  me  to  go  for  a  walk 
wi{h  you  again  — " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  if  I  did,  you  would?  " 

He  got  no  answer.  Lettice  had  just  come  out  to  the  gates 
of  the  hotel  to  taste  the  morning  sun,  with  the  kitten  squirm- 
ing on  her  shoulder ;  and  at  sight  of  her  Miss  O'Connor  ran 
away. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AMANDUS,  -A,  -UM 
"  Mine  is  a  long  and  a  sad  tale,"  said  the  Mouse,  sighing. 

THE  Bellevue,  when  Gardiner  first  set  eyes  on  it,  was  a 
cross  between  a  hostelry  and  a  farm,  tumbled  round  three 
sides  of  a  quadrangle  where  black-and-white  pigs  rooted 
and  grunted,  among  middens  and  mangy  grass,  under  the 
windows  of  the  dining-room.  The  Ardennes  hotel  of  those 
days  had  no  drains,  no  baths,  no  basins  bigger  than  soup- 
plates  and  not  many  towels,  no  easy-chairs,  no  salons ;  in 
fact,  none  of  the  comforts  of  a  refined  home.  There  would 
be  middens  outside  and  the  odor  of  the  cow-stable  within. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  rooms  would  be  clean,  the  beds  com- 
fortable, the  food  abundant,  if  peculiar;  and  the  friendly 
welcome  which  met  the  traveler  made  up  for  many  dis- 
comforts. 

In  all  his  former  ventures  Gardiner  had  been  a  tenant; 
the  Bellevue  was  his  own.  He  had  bought  the  freehold  with 
an  opportune  legacy,  and  was  spending  on  it  his  savings  of 
ten  years.  According  to  his  usual  plan,  he  went  to  work 
first  to  make  the  outside  attractive.  The  quadrangle  where 
the  pigs  had  fed  was  now  a  lawn,  laid  out  with  flower-beds. 
Of  the  dilapidated  out-buildings,  some  had  been  pulled 
down,  others  built  up  and  turned  into  additional  bedrooms. 
Round  the  three  sides  of  the  court  ran  a  piazza  with  easy- 
chairs,  and  tables,  and  ever  more  flowers,  sure  attraction  to 
an  English  eye.  Inside,  his  alterations  had  been  more  costly. 
He  had  put  in  baths;  he  had  laid  on  electric  light;  he  had 
partially  refurnished  the  house  —  not,  however,  with  con- 
ventional "  suites "  from  Liege.  They  would  not  have 
suited  the  heterogeneous  old  mansion,  on  whose  lintel  was 
61 


62  CONVICT  B14 

carved  the  date  1548,  and  which  had  been  successively  con- 
vent, country  house,  farm,  and  inn.  For  those  who  had  eyes 
to  see,  there  was  in  those  days  a  good  deal  of  fine  old  furni- 
ture, carved  presses,  beds,  and  so  forth,  to  be  picked  up  in  the 
farms  and  the  villages.  It  had  been  a  labor  of  love  for 
Gardiner  to  go  round  bargaining  for  these  things,  and  bring- 
ing them  home  in  triumph  to  his  picturesque  old  rooms.  He 
made  a  play  of  his  work,  and  a  pet  of  -his  home ;  he  grudged 
no  labor  spent  in  beautifying  it ;  he  enjoyed  dressing  it  up, 
as  a  child  dresses  up  a  doll.  In  the  end,  what  with  pol- 
ished floors,  casement  curtains,  and  Noah's  Ark  plants  in 
pots,  the  place  looked  like  a  garden-city  house,  as  Lettice  un- 
kindly remarked.  There  was  nothing  like  it  in  the  Ar- 
dennes. 

His  next  step  was  to  advertise,  a  branch  of  their  business 
on  which  hotel-keepers  in  general  do  not  seem  to  spend 
their  brains.  Gardiner  did  not  want  a  mixed  clientele,  he 
was  out  to  attract  the  poorer  gentry,  parsons,  doctors,  school- 
masters, retired  colonels  and  commanders,  literary  men  — 
the  class  which  he  had  found  pleasantest  to  deal  with. 
Therefore  he  put  his  discreet  little  paragraphs  into  such 
papers  as  The  Guardian,  The  Church  Times,  The  Author, 
The  Journal  of  Education,  The  Spectator,  and  various  ladies' 
periodicals.  Each  advertisement  was  worded  differently,  to 
suit  its  audience,  but  all  wound  up  with  the  formula :  "  In- 
clusive terms,  45.  6d.  per  day.  Fifteen-day  excursions, 
Dover  —  Rochehaut,  second  class,  £i.  8s.  3d.  Exact  direc- 
tions as  to  journey  given."  And  to  meet  the  demand  which 
arose,  he  had  leaflets  printed,  giving  alternative  routes  by 
day  or  night,  plans  of  stations,  prices  in  detail,  travel  hints, 
the  minute  advice  of  an  old  traveler  who  knows  every  trick 
of  the  journey ;  leaflets  which  enabled  the  greenest  novice  to 
face  the  douane,  and  change  at  the  right  places,  and  catch 
the  right  trains.  This  branch  of  his  work  alone  kept  him 
busy,  for  he  was  his  own  secretary.  But  it  gained  him  what 
he  wanted,  and  filled  his  house.  Satan  had  not  much  chance 
of  finding  Gardiner's  hands  at  his  disposal.  Nevertheless, 
in  those  summer  days  he  found  time  to  get  into  mischief. 


AMANDUS,  -A,  -UM  63 

Lattice  was  enjoying  herself  very  much  in  her  own 
fashion,  though  to  more  adventurous  souls  her  daily  round 
might  have  seemed  dull.  She  came  down  to  breakfast  at 
nine,  and  then  crawled  out  half-a-mile  to  a  certain  brush- 
wood pile  in  the  forest,  commanding  the  view  over  Frahan. 
There  she  sat  down,  the  faggots  providing  a  comfortable  seat 
with  a  back.  She  took  a  work-bag  and  a  Latin  grammar, 
and  spent  her  morning  alternately  in  setting  slow  stitches 
in  a  green  tablecloth  and  in  learning  Latin  verbs  from  the 
volume  open  on  her  knee.  After  lunch  she  retired  to  her 
room  in  company  with  a  sheaf  of  foolscap.  If  she  wrung 
out  one  whole  line  in  a  day,  she  considered  herself  to  have 
done  brilliantly.  After  tea  came  a  solemn  constitutional 
with  Denis,  which,  as  her  chronic  tiredness  wore  off,  ex- 
tended from  two  miles  to  six,  or  even  ten.  Then  followed 
dinner ;  and  after  dinner,  bed  at  nine  o'clock. 

One  morning  about  three  weeks  after  her  arrival  she  was 
starting  on  her  customary  crawl  to  the  wood  pile,  when 
Dorothea  jumped  up  from  her  seat  on  the  tcrrasse. 

"  Are  you  going  for  a  walk  ?     May  I  come  too  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  far,"  Lettice  warned  her  in  a  discouraging 
hurry. 

"  I  know  ;  you  go  into  the  woods  and  sit  down,  don't  you  ? 
I'll  bring  my  book." 

"  That  will  be  very  nice,"  declared  Lettice.  Any  one 
who  knew  the  A  B  C  of  her  expressions  must  have  seen 
that  she  was,  to  put  it  prettily,  as  cross  as  two  sticks. 
Dorothea  was  not  blind ;  nevertheless,  she  persisted.  They 
walked  in  silence,  Dorothea  now  a  little  ahead,  now  checking 
herself  back  to  her  companion's  unalterable  crawl.  Arrived 
at  the  wood  pile,  Lettice  sat  down  on  the  identical  bundle 
of  sticks  which  she  had  picked  out  for  herself  seventeen 
days  before.  She  was  conservative  as  a  cat  in  all  her  ways. 

The  morning  was  hazy.  Round  them  the  woods  had  been 
cleared  of  forest  trees ;  there  was  a  carpet  of  reddish  leathery 
leaves,  across  which  the  great  silver  boles  lay  forlorn,  amid 
the  white  chips  of  their  slaughter.  Low  bushes  were  green, 
and  there  were  leaves  overhead,  a  thin  tracery;  but  else- 


64  CONVICT  B14 

where  only  russet  tones  and  gray,  gray-stemmed  saplings  and 
grayish  mists.  Gray  too  was  Frahan  in  the  valley,  softly 
molded  in  haze,  white  the  river  circling  its  utterly  improbable 
peninsula,  gray  the  far  mountains,  pearl-gray  and  silver, 
losing  themselves  in  silvery  sky.  Between  her  participles 
and  her  stitches  Lettice  would  often  lift  up  her  eyes  to  the 
hills ;  she  dearly  loved  a  distant  view.  But  to-day  she  was 
watching  her  companion. 

Dorothea  had  plumped  down  among  the  withered  leaves 
and  sat  there,  hugging  her  knees  and  staring  gloomily  into 
the  forest.  To  the  feminine  eye  it  was  plain  that  she  wore 
no  stays;  she  bent  about  like  a  willow  wand,  and  her  atti- 
tudes were  unstudied  as  a  child's.  Youth  is  often  tragic; 
but  there  was  real  bitter  experience  written  on  those  soft 
childish  contours,  and  it  was  the  contradiction  which  inter- 
ested Lettice.  Turning  her  head  suddenly,  Dorothea  caught 
her  with  her  needle  suspended,  staring,  and  broke  into  her 
charming  smile. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something  about  myself ;  may  I?  " 

Lettice  instantly  became  all  attention.  Nature  had  de- 
signed her  as  a  casket  for  confidences,  and  they  were  often 
poured  into  her  patient  ear.  Dorothea  uncurled  herself  and 
lay  prone,  snuggling  close,  propping  her  chin  in  her  hands, 
and  looking  now  on  the  ground,  now  up  at  Lettice  with  her 
big  soft  eyes. 

"  It's  a  long  tale,  but  it's  really  quite  funny,"  she  said. 
"  It  all  began  about  money.  There  was  a  family  place,  and 
my  father,  when  he  died,  left  it  to  me,  with  his  brother  as 
my  guardian;  but  the  brother,  my  uncle,  thought  it  ought 
to  have  been  left  to  him  direct,  do  you  see?  —  not  to  a  scrap 
of  a  girl.  So  he  was  very  angry  and  always  bore  me  a 
grudge,  and  I  do  think  he  had  a  sort  of  grievance,  only  he 
needn't  have  been  so  horrid  about  it.  He  wouldn't  have  been 
so  bad  but  for  his  wife.  She  was  a  clever  woman,  and  he 
was  a  big  soft  handsome  booby  who  always  believed  what 
she  told  him;  so  when  she  said  I  was  sly  and  wicked,  of 
course  he  was  sure  I  was.  Well,  I  lived  with  them,  and 
they  had  the  use  of  my  money.  But  they  were  always  most 


AMANDUS,  -A,  -UM  65 

desperately  afraid  I  should  get  married  and  take  it  away. 
So  they  wouldn't  let  me  go  anywhere.  I  never  went  to  a 
dance,  I  never  played  tennis,  I  wasn't  even  let  go  out  to  tea 
or  have  any  girl  friends,  not  after  I  was  fourteen.  Clara 
(that's  what  I  had  to  call  her)  used  to  go  up  to  town,  and 
shop  in  Bond  Street,  and  do  the  round  of  the  theaters,  on 
my  money,  while  I  was  left  at  home  to  dust  the  drawing- 
room  and  wash  the  stockings.  It  was  funny!  Just  like 
Cinderella!" 

"  Why  didn't  you  run  away  ?  " 

"  I  hadn't  any  money  except  threepence  a  week,  or  any 
one  to  run  to.  Besides — "  She  hesitated.  "You  don't 
know  how  helpless  a  girl  can  be  in  the  hands  of  a  grown-up 
man,"  she  said,  with  resurgent  bitterness.  "  He  used  to  tell 
me  I  was  the  sort  of  girl  who  makes  a  man  want  to  thrash 
her.  He  did  hit  me  once  or  twice.  Oh !  I  could  have  killed 
him !  " 

She  stabbed  the  dead  leaves  viciously  with  Lettice's 
scissors. 

"  But,  but  —  but  didn't  people  talk  ? "  Lettice  asked. 

"  Yes,  they  did,  and  some  of  them  even  quarreled  with 
my  uncle  about  me ;  but  you  see  he  told  every  one  what  a 
bad  girl  I  was,  and  in  a  way  it  wasn't  a  lie,  and  he  could 
make  people  believe  it,  because  he  believed  it  himself.  He 
did  really  believe  that  I'd  made  father  leave  the  money  to  me, 
though  I  was  only  five  when  he  died.  Why,  sometimes  I 
even  got  muddled  myself,  and  used  to  feel  I  must  be  all  the 
dreadful  things  he  said.  Oh!  I  was  miserable.  You  can 
be  very,  very  miserable  when  you're  seventeen,  and  it  doesn't 
seem  a  bit  funny  then.  I  remember  once  I  saved  up  my 
pennies  and  retrimmed  my  summer  hat  —  I  always  hated  the 
things  she  got  for  me  —  and  made  it  look  quite  pretty.  I 
was  so  pleased  with  it ;  and  then  when  I  came  down  she  said 
it  was  unsuitable,  and  she  made  me  take  it  off,  and  go  to 
church  in  the  horrid  old  brown  felt  I'd  worn  all  the  winter, 
though  it  was  a  broiling  June  day!  I  cried  —  I  cried  all 
the  service.  So  to  punish  me,  when  we  came  out,  she  asked 
the  vicar,  me  standing  by,  to  change  our  pew,  because  she 


66  CONVICT  B14- 

said  she  couldn't  trust  me  so  near  the  choir !  (That  was  one 
of  the  things  they  always  said,  that  I  ran  after  men.)  How- 
ever, she  was  done  that  time,  for  the  vicar  played  up  like  a 
trump.  He  said  he'd  speak  to  the  choir,  and  see  they  didn't 
annoy  me  again ;  and  then  he  turned  to  me  and  paid  the 
dearest  old-fashioned  compliment  about  my  sweet  face  being 
enough  to  turn  any  young  man's  head  —  and  me  in  that 
frightful  old  hat  and  my  nose  swelled  purple  with  crying !  " 
She  burst  out  laughing. 

"  But  you  did  get  away  at  last  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did.  I  found  a  friend  to  help  me  ...  but  I 
can't  talk  about  that."  Visibly,  under  Lettice's  eyes,  her 
face  clouded  over  and  changed.  It  was  a  significant  change : 
not  a  mere  shadow  falling  from  without,  but  a  revolution 
within.  The  under  side  of  her  nature,  black  with  prema- 
ture grief  and  premature  passions,  slowly  turned  its  ugliness 
into  view. 

"  Did  you  ever  hate  any  one  ?  "  she  asked,  her  voice  sink- 
ing and  her  eyes  glowing  as  she  relived  the  feelings  she 
described.  ."  Did  you  ever  know  what  it  was  to  turn  sick 
and  cold  with  loathing,  to  have  the  world  go  black,  black, 
when  a  certain  person  comes  near?  Did  you?  No,  I  know 
you  never  did,  you're  far  too  good  a  Christian.  But  I'm  not 
a  Christian.  I  don't  believe  in  any  religion  of  love.  There's 
little  enough  love  here,  and  what  there  is  goes  to  the  wall. 
And  there's  no  love  over  us ;  just  a  cruel,  cruel,  grinding 
power,  which  delights  in  breaking  to  bits  whatever  it  sees 
that's  beautiful  and  happy.  Oh,  it's  an  ugly,  cruel,  hateful 
world ! " 

"  I  think  it's  a  very  nice  world,"  said  Lettice,  her  words 
falling  like  drops  of  soft  water  on  white-hot  steel.  They 
did  not  very  accurately  reflect  her  thoughts,  but  Lettice's 
words  seldom  did  that.  Dorothea  laughed  them  to  scorn. 

"  You  wouldn't  if  you  were  in  my  shoes,"  she  said  de- 
risively. She  sat  up.  "  Listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  if  you  like. 
You've  just  heard  what  sort  of  life  I  had  when  I  was  a  girl; 
I  can  laugh  over  it  now,  but  it  wasn't  very  gay  at  the  time. 
Well,  I  got  away,  as  I  said ;  and  for  a  little  I  was  happy  — 


AMANDUS,  -A,  -UM  67 

oh,  I  was — for  just  a  little,  little  while.  And  then,  in  a 
moment  —  everything  gone.  Everything.  All  I'd  cared 
for,  and  the  hopes  I  had  —  oh,  I  had,  I  had  such  heavenly 
hopes  —  all  gone,  all  broken,  dead,  dead,  dead."  She  beat 
her  palm  on  the  ground.  "  I  dare  say  if  I'd  been  older  I 
might  have  taken  it  better,"  she  said,  turning  her  eyes  on 
Lettice  with  an  appeal  which  nothing  in  earth  or  heaven  could 
satisfy ;  for  it  was  an  appeal  to  the  Moving  Finger  to  go 
back,  to  reverse  what  had  been  written.  "  I  might  have 
been  gentle  and  forgiving  and  resigned  then.  But  I  wasn't 
old  enough.  I'm  only  twenty-one  now.  And  I'm  tired  — 
I'm  tired." 

The  mournful  vibrations  of  her  voice  died  away. 

"  It  is  very  tiring  to  hate  anybody,"  said  Lettice,  deftly 
plucking  the  core  of  meaning  out  of  these  wild  speeches. 
Dorothea  did  not  seem  to  hear.  Her  eyes,  transparent  win- 
dows of  her  soul,  were  miserably  sad.  Presently  with  a 
quick  sigh  she  roused  herself,  turned  the  key  on  memory 
and  drew  down  the  blind. 

"  There,  that's  enough  about  me.  I  didn't  mean  to  tell 
you  all  this,  but  never  mind,  I'm  glad  you  know.  Now  let's 
talk  about  something  cheerful.  Tell  me  about  that  hand- 
some cousin  of  yours.  What's  he  like  ?  " 

Lettice,  who  could  not  bear  to  see  a  book  mishandled,  had 
picked  up  Dorothea's,  and  was  smoothing  its  rumpled  pages. 
She  accommodated  herself  with  patience  to  this  violent 
change  of  subject.  "  Denis?  "  she  said.  "  He  is  very  nice." 
Convenient  word !  In  Lettice's  vocabulary  it  covered  a  mul- 
titude of  meanings. 

"  I  like  his  face.  He  looks  as  if  he  were  in  the  army.  Is 
he  in  the  army  ?  What  does  he  do  ?  " 

"  He  —  he's  a  sort  of  engineer." 

"  An  engineer  ?  A  civil  engineer  ?  That's  not  bad ;  they 
do  do  things  worth  doing  —  they  and  an  explorer  here  and 
there,  and  the  flying  men  —  I  like  them  best.  I  like  cour- 
age, physical  courage,  it's  far  more  interesting  than  moral. 
I  shouldn't  think  your  cousin  would  ever  know  what  it  was 
to  feel  afraid.  And  wouldn't  he  never  tell  a  lie  ?  " 


68  CONVICT  B14 

"Never,"  said  Lettice,  her  eyes  straying  to  her  Latin 
grammar. 

"  Not  even  to  save  a  friend  ?  He'd  do  anything  else,  take 
any  risk  himself,  but  just  not  that  ?  So  that  if  he  was  pushed 
into  a  corner  he'd  have  to  tell  the  truth  ?  That's  just  what 
I  should  have  expected.  Of  course  there  are  a  few  things 
I  have  against  him,"  Dorothea  ran  on,  seemingly  at  random, 
though  her  downcast  eyes  were  glowing.  "  He  shouldn't 
like  cats,  nasty  treacherous  things,  they're  not  a  man's  ani- 
mal. And  he  shouldn't  sing  the  hymns  on  Sunday  out  of 
that  big  book  with  tunes.  Going  to  church  is  all  right,  and 
suits  him,  but  I  can't  bear  that  book.  It's  like  the  W.S.P. 
A."  Presumably  Miss  O'Connor  meant  the  Y.M.C.A. 
"Mr  Gardiner's  his  very  greatest  friend,  isn't  he?  Would 
he  tell  lies,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Lettice,  far  down  the  passive  voice 
of  amo. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  he's  very  nice." 

Out  shot  Dorothea's  arm,  and  Lettice,  amazed,  aggrieved, 
found  herself  being  vigorously  shaken. 

"  Do  not  talk  like  that !  I  never  in  my  life  knew  any  one 
so  —  so  perfectly  systematically  untruthful  as  you  are!  I 
don't  believe  you've  once  this  morning  said  one  single  thing 
you  really  mean!"  (But  she  was  wrong,  for  Lettice  had 
done  so  —  once.)  "Tell  me  what  you  think  of  Mr.  Gard- 
iner. Tell  me.  I  want  to  know." 

Lettice,  chafing  her  arm,  mutely  reproachful,  indicated  the 
creases  which  Dorothea's  grip  had  left  on  her  pale  blue 
linen  sleeve.  "You,  you,  you  —  you  are  so  violent"  she 
complained  in  her  pianissimo  drawl,  which  held  always  a 
hint  of  make-believe.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  I  do 
think  Mr.  Gardiner  is  very  nice."  Then  for  the  second  time 
she  let  out  a  little  piece  of  truth.  "  I  shouldn't  think  he'd 
take  failure  well." 

"  Oh." 

Abrupt  silence.  Dorothea  sprang  up  and  wandered  off 
into  the  forest,  slashing  at  the  brambles  with  her  stick, 


AMANDUS,  -A,  -UM  69 

jumping  over  logs  that  came  in  her  way,  just  as  a  boy  might 
have  done.  Indeed  she  looked  like  a  boy  in  her  rough 
tweeds  and  Norfolk  coat,  with  her  brown  face  and  well- 
scratched  hands.  She  had  worn  neither  hat  nor  gloves  since 
she  came. 

Lettice  looked  at  her  with  shrewd  and  wideawake  cu- 
riosity. She  and  Denis,  pooling  their  observations,  had  been 
following  the  hidden  course  of  Gardiner's  love  affair.  So 
circumspectly  had  the  pair  behaved  that  not  a  soul  in  the 
hotel,  except  the  two  allies,  had  any  inkling  of  the  romance 
in  progress.  Yet  it  was  serious  enough,  at  any  rate  for 
Gardiner.  He  was  in  it  up  to  the  neck ;  no  doubt  about 
him.  And  Dorothea  ?  Denis  was  of  opinion  that  she  meant 
business.  Hadn't  Lettice  seen  the  expression  (love-light 
was  the  word  in  his  mind,  but  he  didn't  like  to  use  it)  in  her 
eyes? 

Lettice  had  always  had  her  doubts  as  to  that  love-light, 
though  she  kept  them  to  herself.  This  morning  they  had 
become  certainty.  Dorothea  did  not  love  Harry  Gardiner  — 
it  was  not  love  which  had  looked  out  of  those  too-clear  eyes 
of  hers  when  she  asked  that  imperious  question.  No !  Let- 
tice had  been  illuminated  by  the  certainty  that  he  was  the 
man  whom,  on  her  own  snowing,  she  had  singled  out  to 
hate.  Dorothea  could  hate,  no  doubt  of  that.  The  plain 
black  and  white  of  her  emotions,  love  and  hate,  rapture  and 
agony,  they  were  somewhat  startling  in  a  world  of  neutral 
grays. 

But  at  this  point  Lettice  found  herself  up  against  a  blank 
wall.  What  was  Gardiner's  offense,  and  how  did  it  happen 
that  he  did  not  know  it  himself?  For  he  did  not  know; 
and  Dorothea  was  planning  her  attack  against  a  man  who 
had  thrown  away  his  armor  for  love  of  her.  This  was  not 
sporting.  Lettice  always  instinctively  took  sides  with  the 
weak  against  the  strong,  with  the  victim  against  the  avenger. 
Besides,  she  liked  Gardiner.  She  liked  Dorothea  too  —  with 
reservations;  but  her  character  was  simpler,  more  homo- 
geneous, easier  to  follow.  She,  in  fact,  was  interesting  his- 
torically, but  not  analytically.  Now  the  uncertain  balance 


70  CONVICT  B14 

of  strength  and  weakness  in  Gardiner  made  him  an  engross- 
ing study.  He  was  transparent  to  Lettice,  while  she  was 
opaque  to  him.  "  That  inoffensive  but  very  ordinary  little 
person  " —  so  he  had  called  her :  what  a  pity  he  could  not 
look  into  her  mind ! 

Thus  Lettice  abandoned  the  study  of  the  passive  of  attto 
for  its  active  voice.  In  the  midst  of  her  cogitations  she  was 
surprised  to  see  Denis  come  in  view,  striding  through  the 
bracken.  He  sometimes  called  for  her  on  his  way  back  from 
the  river,  but  now  he  was  approaching  from  the  direction  of 
the  hotel.  Moreover,  gloom  sat  upon  his  brow. 

"  I  say,  Lettice,"  he  called  out,  the  Irish  accent  unusually 
strong,  "isn't  it  a  nawful  nuisance?  Wandesforde's  had  a 
smash-up  in  his  car,  and  he  wants  me  back  at  once !  " 

Lettice  gazed  at  him,  slowly  and  thoughtfully  rubbing 
her  nose. 

"  I  got  the  wire  just  as  I  was  startin'  for  the  river.  No, 
he's  not  bad,  only  a  broken  arm.  But  the  nuisance  of  it  is 
that  he's  entered  for  a  race  on  Friday  week,  and  he  wants 
me  to  take  it  on  instead.  I  hate  racing  on  a  Friday  —  I  hate 
racing  at  all,  for  that  matter,  mixin'  oneself  up  with  news- 
paper men  and  that  sort  of  raffle ;  but  I'll  have  to  do  it." 

"A  race?  What  fun!  What  for?"  asked  Dorothea, 
coming  up  in  time  to  hear  the  last  words.  She  dropped 
down  on  a  bundle  of  faggots,  and  extended  under  Lettice's 
nose  a  brown  and  purple  palm  full  of  blackberries.  Lettice 
shook  her  head,  slowly,  twice.  Dorothea,  with  a  glint  of 
fun,  reached  out  to  offer  them  to  Denis.  He  screwed  his 
eyeglass  into  place,  gazed  at  them  absently,  and  said :  "  No, 
thank  you."  Dorothea  continued  to  wave  them  under  his 
nose,  in  the  manner  of  the  importunate  sidesman  offering 
the  plate  to  the  stingy  parishioner.  Denis,  yielding,  still  ab- 
sently, chose  a  berry  and  swallowed  it  whole  like  a  pill. 
Dorothea  with  a  broad  smile  emptied  the  rest  of  her  hand- 
ful into  her  mouth,  and  hugged  her  knees  again  with  her 
crimson  hands.  The  whole  had  taken  but  a  moment.  "  I 
didn't  know  you  went  in  for  racing.  What  did  you  say  it 
was  for  ?  "  she  repeated. 


AMANDUS,  -A,  -UM  71 

"  Silver  trophy  offered  by  the  Birmingham  Courier. 
Cross-country,  with  compulsory  halts  at  Redditch,  Coventry, 
Polesworth,  and  Wallsall.  He'd  scratch,  if  it  weren't  that 
we're  both  rather  keen  on  testin'  our  new  little  bus.  She's 
done  one  hundred  and  twenty  and  over  on  her  trial  flights  — " 

"  Flights  ?  It's  an  aeroplane  race  ?  You  fly  ?  You  told 
me  he  was  an  engineer !  "  cried  Dorothea,  rounding  on  Let- 
tice  in  hot  reproach.  "  Why,  I've  been  longing  to  meet  a 
flying  man  for  years!  Go  on,  go  on,  tell  me  all  about  it. 
Do  you  fly  much?  How  idiotic  of  me  not  to  recognize  your 
name !  " 

Here  was  the  enthusiastic  young  lady,  Denis's  pet  aver- 
sion ;  but,  strange  to  say,  he  did  not  seem  to  mind  her. 

"  Well,  I  build  aeroplanes,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  It's  my 
partner  does  the  ornamental  work.  You  may  know  his 
name  —  Wandesforde." 

"  Wandesforde?  Sydney  Wandesforde?  Why,  I  should 
just  think  I  do !  He  was  the  man  who  came  in  first  in  the 
London-Berlin  race,  and  was  disqualified  for  passing  inside 
one  of  the  controls  in  a  fog.  And  then  he  had  that  marvel- 
ous escape,  when  his  machine  turned  over  in  the  air,  and  spilt 
him  in  a  heap  on  the  top  plane,  and  he  managed  to  regain 
control,  and  brought  her  down  safely  after  all !  Why,  he's 
magnificent!  I'd  give  —  I'd  give  a  thousand  pounds  to  go 
up  with  him !  " 

"  You  can  do  it  for  less  than  that,"  said  Denis,  amused. 

"  Ah,  but  I  mean  in  a  race.  A  big  flying  race  —  it's  about 
the  one  thrill  worth  having  left  in  the  world!  " 

"  You  should  fly  your  own  machine.  That's  better  fun 
than  bein'  a  passenger.  Any  one  of  the  big  schools  would 
take  you  on,  for  a  matter  of  seventy  pounds  or  so.  It's 
quite  simple." 

"  Would  they?  Will  you  build  me  an  aeroplane,  if  they 
do?" 

"  With  pleasure,  if  you  give  me  the  commission." 

"  I  shall  come  and  see  you  about  it  directly  I  get  back 
to  England." 

"  Do." 


72  CONVICT  BU 

Lettice  gazed  from  one  to  the  other.  Dorothea  was  like 
a  rose,  her  eyes  were  sparkling;  Denis  was  amused  and 
interested.  True  that  at  present  he  saw  only  the  enthusiast, 
not  the  woman,  but  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  lacked 
the  common  instincts  of  human  nature.  Was  this  sudden 
friendship  to  be  encouraged?  Lettice  answered  that  ques- 
tion by  uprooting  herself  from  her  seat. 

"  It  is  one  o'clock,"  she  announced.     "  I  am  going  home." 

Denis,  as  her  escort,  rose  too.  Dorothea  sat  still,  looking 
decidedly  sulky. 

"Aren't  you  coming,  Miss  O'Connor?" 

"  No.     She  doesn't  want  me  to." 

Lettice,  who  had  already  started  on  her  homeward  journey, 
obviously  was  not  given  to  hear.  Denis  glanced,  irresolute, 
from  that  expressive  back  to  Dorothea,  but  ended  by  raising 
his  cap  and  hastening  after  his  cousin. 

"  I'm  sorry  we  bored  you,"  he  said,  taking  possession  of 
her  coat  and  bag  and  book. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  returned  Lettice  with  polite  em- 
pressement. 


CHAPTER  IX 
MELODRAMATIC 

Do  one  thing  at  least  I  can  — 
Love  a  man  or  hate  a  man 
Supremely. 

Pippa  Passes. 

"LOUISA!" 

"Yes,  Miss  Dot?" 

"Has  either  of  those  two  recognized  you?" 

"  Well,  miss,  Mr.  Smith  haven't,  that's  sure.  I  might 
be  a  sack  of  potatoes  for  all  the  notice  he  takes.  Men  he'll 
look  at,  and  I'd  be  sorry  to  be  the  one  as  tried  to  do  him; 
but  women  —  no.  He's  a  real  gentleman,  he  is.  He've 
taken  his  ticket  for  up  above,  and  he  ain't  goin'  to  waste  it." 

"  And  the  other  one  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Gardiner  ?  I  see  him  stare  at  me  pretty  hard  times 
and  again,  but  it's  always,  '  Now,  have  I  seen  you  before 
or  haven't  I  ? '  so  I  just  stares  back  as  bold  as  a  cucumber 
and  puts  him  off.  He  can't  be  sure,  see,  about  a  old  thing 
as  is  just  like  any  other  old  thing.  He've  seen  a  many 
maids,  miss." 

"  I  never  realized  you  were  a  danger  till  I'd  got  you  here, 
and  then  it  was  too  late.  Never  mind,  you'll  come  in  useful. 
Very  useful.  I  didn't  see  how  to  begin,  but  I  do  now.  I'm 
going  to  get  it  out  of  Gardiner  himself  if  I  possibly  can, 
that's  only  fair;  but  if  I  can't,  I  can  always  fall  back  on 
Merion-Smith.  You  see,  if  I  can  only  get  either  of  them  to 
make  any  sort  of  admission,  it's  all  I,need,  and  that  murder- 
er's under  my  thumb.  Because  Merion-Smith  won't  swear 
to  a  lie.  Not  even  to  save  a  friend  —  Lettice  owned  it  this 
morning.  At  the  inquest  he  escaped  because  nobody  thought 
of  asking  him  any  questions,  but  once  I  get  him  into  the 
73 


74  CONVICT  B14 

witness-box  again  —  oh !  I  must  make  Gardiner  speak  —  I 
will!" 

"  Miss,  if  you  'op  about  so  I  can't  do  your  hair,  and  I 
shall  pull  you  crool." 

"Do  I  care?" 

With  a  jerk  and  a  tug,  Dorothea  dragged  her  long  tresses 
out  of  Louisa's  hands,  and  buried  her  face  on  the  dressing- 
table.  Gaunt  and  patient,  Louisa  waited  behind  her  chair. 
Her  sympathies  were  divided ;  she  found  it  hard  to  believe 
harm  of  a  man,  a  mere  bachelor  man,  who  kept  his  house  so 
scrupulously  clean. 

"  It's  a  wicked  thing  you're  after,  miss,  though  I  suppose 
it's  no  use  me  saying  so,"  she  remarked  dispassionately. 

"It  is  not  wicked!  It's  justice.  That's  all  I  want:  to 
make  him  answer  to  the  law  for  what  he's  done.  I  wouldn't 
touch  him  with  a  pitchfork  myself!" 

"  But  look  at  the  nasty  underhanded  way  of  it,  miss ! 
Mascarooning  as  if  you  wasn't  married,  and  you  the  way 
you  been  last  year  and  all  —  it  ain't  hardly  decent,  to  my 
mind.  It  makes  me  sick  to  see  him  hangin'  on  your  foot- 
steps, so  to  speak,  and  you  leadin'  him  on.  And  it's  my 
belief  it's  a  wild  mare's  nest  you  got  in  your  head,  and  him  a 
babe  unborn  all  the  time ;  and  then  where'll  you  be  ?  " 

"  Where  I  was  before,  of  course.  If  it's  so  I  shall  find 
it  out,  and  no  harm  done." 

"  No  harm,  with  him  trustin'  the  very  ground  you  tread 
on,  and  then  coming  all  of  a  jolt  on  the  truth  — " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  into  all  that,"  said  Dorothea  impatiently. 
"  I  didn't  ask  him  to  admire  me,  did  I  ?  It  was  he  began 
it.  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  Besides,  I'm  right, 
I  know  I  am,  and  so  would  you  if  you'd  been  there.  He 
did  it.  He's  accountable  for  two  lives,  and  one  of  them  so 
innocent,  so  innocent  —  You  know  what  Guy  did  for  me, 
what  he  saved  me  from ;  how  do  you  think  I  could  ever  face 
him  or  my  baby  again  if  I  let  them  go  unavenged? " 

"  It's  not  in  heaven  you'll  be  meeting  that  dear  little  inno- 
cent, nor  never  seeing  her  no  more  — " 

"  Oh,    be    quiet,    Louisa ! "    Dorothea    stamped,    "  Put 


MELODRAMATIC  75 

Uncle  Jack's  stars  in  my  hair,"  she  ordered.  "  And  I'll 
not  wear  that  old  black  thing  to-night.  I'll  have  the  silver 
brocade." 

"  The  brocade,  miss  ?  It  ain't  suitable,  miss.  A  deal  too 
dressy." 

Dorothea  slewed  round  in  her  chair  and  looked  up  with 
an  expression  which  sent  Louisa  off  to  fetch  the  silver 
brocade  without  another  word.  Persuasion  was  no  good 
with  Dorothea.  Flat  contradiction  might  sometimes  avail; 
and  the  flatter  it  was,  the  more  likely  to  hit  the  turning 
angle  of  that  incalculable  young  person.  But  if  it  did  not 
chance  to  hit  that  angle  —  well,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
prompt  obedience. 

Dorothea,  a  world-weary  cynic  of  twenty-one,  not  infre- 
quently thought  in  terms  of  the  penny  novelettes  which  were 
her  favorite  reading.  She  had  conceived  the  idea  of  array- 
ing herself  for  conquest,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Lady 
Ermyntrude  in  The  Heart  of  a  Countess.  Every  evening 
hitherto  she  had  worn  what  the  author  of  that  interesting 
romance  might  have  described  as  "  a  modest  little  black 
frock  of  some  soft,  clinging  material."  The  brocade  was 
full  dress;  it  had  a  short-waisted  bodice,  with  strands  of 
silver  crossing  on  the  breast  and  a  silver  girdle.  The  petti- 
coat, heavily  embroidered,  was  short  enough  to  show  her 
silver  shoes.  Over  her  shoulders,  jasmine-white  and  dim- 
pled, fell  a  scarf  of  silver  gauze ;  and  there  were  diamond 
stars  in  the  darkness  of  her  hair.  In  fine,  when  Louisa  had 
done  with  her,  she  was  herself  a  star  of  loveliness  bright 
enough  to  dazzle  anybody. 

Lettice  was  waiting  in  the  hall  to  see  her  cousin  start, 
Denis  having  as  usual  got  ready  half-an-hour  too  soon,  with 
his  rod  and  his  rug  and  his  bag  and  a  basket  for  Geraldine 
the  kitten.  They  were  exchanging  those  labored  last  words 
which  even  the  best  of  friends  manufacture  while  the  car- 
riage delayeth  its  coming,  when  this  vision  swept  down  on 
them,  with  her  nose  in  the  air.  Evidently  Dorothea  had  not 
forgiven  Lettice  for  cutting  short  her  talk,  or  Denis  for 
suffering  it  to  be  done.  She  sailed  on  to  the  salon,  where 


76  CONVICT  B14 

her  entrance  was  greeted  with  a  comically  sudden  hush,  such 
as  fell  on  the  dinner-table  when  a  new  course  made  its  ap- 
pearance. Lettice  relieved  her  feelings  with  one  of  her 
favorite  words ;  not  "  nice  "  this  time,  but  "  Well !  " 

"  There,  you  see  you've  lost  me  a  commission,  Lettice ! " 
said  Denis,  laughing. 

"  Me  ?     I  didn't  do  anything !  " 

"  What's  up  ?  "  asked  Gardiner.  He  had  come  out  of  his 
den,  with  a  pot  of  flowers  in  his  arms,  just  in  time  to  wit- 
ness the  transit  of  Venus,  and  had  been  favored,  in  contra- 
distinction to  the  others,  with  a  gracious  smile ;  his  face  had 
changed,  ever  so  little,  in  response.  Denis  opened  his  lips 
to  reply,  but  Lettice  was  too  quick  for  him. 

"Why,  Miss  O'Connor  and  I  were  having  such  a  nice 
cozy  talk  together,  and  Denis  would  come  bothering  with 
his  old  aeroplanes"  (the  tone  of  spite  was  delicious),  "and 
of  course  she  didn't  like  it,  and  now  he's  cross  with  me 
because  she  doesn't  want  to  buy  one !  Robs  me  of  my  only 
friend,  and  they  says  it's  my  fault,  and  abuses  me  like,  like  — 
like  a  pickpocket !  Well,  well !  " 

Nobody  could  play  the  injured  innocent  better  than  Lettice, 
above  all  when  she  was  in  the  wrong.  She  played  with 
Denis  as  delicately  as  a  kitten  plays  with  a  leaf.  "  Yes, 
you're  an  ill-used  person,  aren't  you? "  he  said.  He  put  his 
arm  round  her  shoulders  and  gently  pressed  her  down  into  a 
chair ;  he  would  never  let  her  stand  if  he  could  help  it.  "  At 
any  rate,  you're  not  in  it,  Harry,"  he  said,  speaking  over  her 
head  to  Gardiner.  "  She's  not  carried  over  our  sins  to  you, 
that's  one  good  thing !  " 

"Yes,  didn't  I  get  a  beamer?"  said  Gardiner,  with  his 
easy  laugh.  He  fell  back  to  observe  the  flowers  he  had  been 
arranging.  "  Not  that  I  should  afflict  myself  if  she  did.  So 
long  as  she  pays  her  bill,  it's  all  one  to  me !  " 

He  fancied,  as  he  spoke,  that  a  gleam  passed  over  Miss 
Smith's  countenance ;  but  at  that  moment  the  omnibus  ar- 
rived, and  amid  good-bys  and  good  wishes  Dorothea  was 
forgotten.  When  the  traveler  had  departed,  and  when 
Gardiner  had  stood  on  the  step  waving  his  hand  till  the  last 


MELODRAMATIC  77 

minute,  he  turned,  and  came  face  to  face  with  Lettice. 
They  looked  at  each  other  as  the  two  intimate  friends  of  a 
common  friend  do  look,  when  the  link  (or  should  it  be 
called  a  barrier?)  is  removed  from  between  them.  It  might 
be  said  that  this  was  the  first  time  Gardiner  had  ever  seen 
Lettice,  for,  remembering  that  gleam,  he  looked  with  curi- 
osity. He  found  himself  gazing  into  a  pair  of  perfectly 
intelligent  and  faintly  derisive  hazel  eyes. 

When  you  have  summed  up  a  person  as  ordinary  and 
inoffensive,  it  is  a  shock  to  discover  that  the  said  person  has 
turned  the  tables  by  reading  the  inmost  secrets  of  your  heart. 
Gardiner  felt  as  though  he  had  suddenly  become  transparent. 
Fairly  disconcerted,  he  wheeled  round,  and  almost  fell  over 
the  chambermaid,  who  was  at  his  elbow  offering  him  a  note. 
"  Tiens !  "  said  Rosalie.  The  note  dropped ;  the  draught 
from  the  open  door  whisked  it  down  the  hall  to  Lettice's  feet. 
Lettice,  like  her  cousin,  was  a  dandy  in  affairs  of  honor,  and 
would  not  willingly  have  glanced  even  at  the  envelope  of 
another  person's  letter ;  but  in  this  case,  as  she  stooped,  she 
could  not  avoid  seeing  that  the  handwriting  was  Dorothea's. 
She  gave  it  back,  and  had  the  unique  satisfaction  of  seeing 
Gardiner  color  as  he  thanked  her.  Then  she  slipped  away, 
and  left  him  to  enjoy  his  letter  alone. 

"  Could  you  possibly  give  me  just  five  minutes  this  eve- 
ning, I  have  something  very  important  I  want  to  ask  you. 
I  will  be  up  at  the  crucifix  at  half-past  nine  on  the  chance. — 
D.  M.  O'C." 

Above  the  gardens  of  the  Bellevue,  which  had  a  slope 
of  one  in  six,  there  was  an  orchard  of  white-stockinged 
fruit  trees,  which  had  a  slope  of  one  in  four.  Above  that 
again  rose  the  grassy  hill-side,  steeper  and  steeper,  till  after 
a  veritable  scramble  you  reached  the  top,  which  was  marked 
by  a  cairn  of  stones  and  a  crucifix.  Beyond  the  crucifix 
were  level  uplands  —  dry  silvery  grass,  dark  knots  of  furze 
or  bramble,  clayey  ruts  winding  away  to  a  wood  of  stunted 
firs  which  leaned,  like  the  grasses,  all  along  the  wind.  But 


78  CONVICT  B14 

on  the  other  side  of  the  cross,  what  a  view !  This  hill  was 
scarcely  a  mile  as  the  crow  flies  from  the  cliffs  of  Rochehaut, 
yet  it  faced  a  wholly  different  reach  of  the  river,  some  ten 
miles  distant,  by  water,  from  the  ford  where  Dorothea  had 
cut  her  foot;  the  river  performed  a  figure  of  eight  in  be- 
tween. This  was  no  scene  of  theatrical  beauty,  no  famous 
pointe  de  vue,  like  that  above  Frahan ;  yet  Gardiner  loved 
it  more.  It  gave  him  the  free  wind  and  the  open  sky,  and 
it  gave  them  to  him  alone ;  no  one  ever  came  up  here,  except 
perhaps  a  laborer  trudging  inland  to  Rochehaut,  the  village 
of  the  middens.  Odi  profanum  vulgus.  For  Gardiner, 
beautiful  Frahan  was  forever  tainted  by  the  thousands  of 
admiring  eyes  which  had  rested  upon  it. 

The  hills  here  sank  down  in  wide-spreading  slopes,  great 
shoulders  and  flanks  all  silvery  and  slippery  with  grass. 
At  their  feet  the  river  rippled,  shallow  and  broad;  and  on 
the  green  floor  of  the  valley  were  clustered  the  houses  of 
Poupehan,  a  tiny  gray  hamlet  with  a  tiny  gray  bridge  which 
gathered  the  stream  within  its  span,  though  above  and  be- 
low it  spread  out  its  rounded  pools.  On  the  farther  bank, 
the  hills  rose  like  a  wall,  a  sweep  of  dark  woods.  That 
white  streak,  could  it  be  a  road?  Yes,  it  was  the  bridle  track 
going  up  to  Corbion  on  the  height ;  it  hung  against  the  side- 
hill  like  a  scarf.  At  the  top  you  might  see  the  gray  ex- 
tinguisher cap  of  Corbion  church,  among  trees.  But  the 
eye  came  back  to  rest  on  those  glorious  woods ;  how  rich  they 
were,  deep-plumaged,  somber,  steep  as  a  curtain ! 

By  dint  of  neglecting  his  letters,  and  scamping  his  flowers, 
Gardiner  managed  to  keep  tryst  some  minutes  before  the 
time  appointed.  He  sat  down  on  the  stones  and  leaned 
against  the  crucifix,  which  shot  up  over  his  head,  lank  and 
black  and  forlornly  crooked,  a  ten-foot  spar  supporting  a 
ten-inch  figure.  The  moon  was  coining  liquid  silver  in  a 
slate-blue  sky;  the  faint  gold  lamps  of  Poupehan  showed 
vague  in  the  gray  depth  of  the  valley.  There  by  the  river 
the  mists  were  rising,  the  meadows  drenched  and  cold  and 
silvery  with  dew ;  here  on  the  hill-top  the  air  was  velvet-warm 
and  dry,  and  sweet  with  honeysuckle.  Big  grasshoppers 


MELODRAMATIC  79 

whirred  all  round  in  the  grass,  and  a  corncrake  in  the  fir- 
wood  behind  let  off  at  intervals  his  long  mechanical  rattle. 
There  were  owls,  too,  hoo-hooing,  and  one  whose  note  was 
like  a  silvery  bell,  calling  from  the  woods  across  the  valley. 
It  was  a  night  of  romance  —  a  night  for  love. 

Gardiner's  planets  were  Mercury  and  Venus ;  he  incon- 
gruously combined  the  money-getting  instinct  with  a  sensu- 
ous temperament.  He  had  intended  to  spend  those  minutes 
calmly  in  reviewing  the  pros  and  cons  of  marriage  with 
Dorothea  —  for  there  were  a  good  many  cons ;  marriage, 
even  with  a  rich  woman,  did  not  come  into  his  scheme  of 
life.  But  the  white  enchantment  of  the  moonlight  was  too 
much  for  him ;  he  became  a  lover  and  nothing  more. 

Meanwhile  Dorothea,  climbing  the  hill,  was  beginning  to 
wish  she  had  not  put  on  that  silver  brocade.  If  she  was 
not  careful,  he  would  get  out  of  hand ;  and  if  he  got  out  of 
hand  —  She  had  come  to  Rochehaut,  in  the  first  instance, 
bent  on  hunting  down  her  enemy,  but  without  any  definite 
plan.  True,  the  Lady  Ermyntrude  used  her  attractions  for 
the  undoing  of  the  wicked  Lord  Henry ;  but  it  had  never 
entered  Dorothea's  head  to  do  the  like,  probably  because 
the  idea  was  instinctively  repugnant.  It  was  very  repug- 
nant ;  and  when  chance,  and  the  accident  at  the  ford,  showed 
her  her  power,  though  she  used  it,  it  was  only  after  a 
struggle.  Not  that  she  had  any  scruples  of  morality :  Doro- 
thea was  as  unmoral  a  creature  as  one  could  find  in  a  Chris- 
tian land,  she  was  guided  solely  by  her  feelings.  But,  in 
spite  of  eight  months  of  marriage,  she  was  still  fiercely 
virginal;  she  could  not  with  equanimity  suffer  herself  to  be 
desired,  above  all  by  Gardiner.  Still,  being  perfectly  per- 
suaded that  she  owed  this  duty  to  her  dead,  she  was  not 
going  to  turn  back.  Dorothea  had  the  merits  of  her  defects ; 
she  was  not  a  coward. 

She  arrived  breathless,  with  her  skirts  tucked  over  her 
arm,  and  one  glance  told  her  that  her  naive  plan  for  dazzling 
him  had  succeeded  a  little  too  well.  His  eyes  caught  sudden 
fire ;  he  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment,  bowing  to  her  with  a 
dash  of  foreign  extravagance. 


80  CONVICT  B14 

"  Barbarous  behavior !  "  he  said.  "  Rank  cruelty,  no  less. 
Do  you  know  you're  three  and  a  half  minutes  behind  time  ?  " 

Decidedly  he  was  getting  out  of  hand.  Dorothea  retreated 
a  pace  or  two,  and  wound  her  arm  round  the  stem  of  the 
cross  as  if  for  support. 

"I  —  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  for  a  moment  — " 

"  So  you  said ;  on  business,  wasn't  it  ?  I'm  all  attention. 
You  don't  look  much  like  business  to-night,  do  you  know  ? " 

"  I  can't  say  anything  if  you  look  at  me  like  that !  "  cried 
Dorothea  in  a  rush.  Gardiner  laughed  and  cast  down  his 
eyes.  "No,  please,  if  you'd  turn  right  away  —  I  shall 
never  get  it  out  to  your  face — " 

"  Senorita,  if  the  moon  doesn't  desire  to  be  looked  at,  she 
shouldn't  appear  in  silver,"  said  Gardiner,  complying. 
"That  suit?  Now,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"  It's  a  little  difficult  to  explain."  It  was ;  her  breath  came 
fluttering  and  her  voice  shook.  "  You  must  be  patient  with 
me  if  I  say  it  wrong."  ("Patient!  I'll  be  something  be- 
sides patient,"  Gardiner  murmured.)  "  It's  —  well,  it's  just 
this.  Have  you  —  do  you  remember  ever  seeing  my  maid 
before?" 

There  was  an  instant  change  in  the  atmosphere. 

"Your  maid?  That  gaunt  female  who  looks  like  the 
Nonconformist  conscience?  I  might  have.  Why?" 

"  She  says  she's  seen  you." 

"Where?" 

"  At  your  hotel  at  Grasmere." 

"  At  Grasmere  ?    At  the  Easedale  ?  " 

Dorothea  nodded. 

"  Go  on,"  he  prompted  steadily. 

"  It  was  last  August,"  said  Dorothea.  "  She  was  in  the 
service  of  a  Mrs.  Trent  — " 

She  stopped.  She  could  feel  the  sudden  increase  of  ten- 
sion. "  Ah,  I  thought  from  your  tone  I'd  been  doing  some- 
thing reprehensible,"  said  Gardiner,  with  a  dry  laugh.  "  Go 
on.  I  suppose  she's  told  you  a  pretty  yarn.  I'm  a  mur- 
derer—  is  that  it?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no!  it's  only  that  she  says  the  whole  truth  didn't 


MELODRAMATIC  81 

come  out  at  the  inquest.  She  says  you  —  you  threw  some- 
thing at  him  —  a  chisel  —  Mrs.  Trent  picked  it  up  after- 
wards—  no,  please  wait  a  moment  till  I've  done!  Louisa 
says  too  —  I  made  her  tell  —  that  he,  the  man  who  died, 
had  a  temper,  that  he  very  likely  said  the  most  horrid  things. 
I  don't  think  even  she  thinks  you  were  much  to  blame,  while 
of  course  I  —  But  she  did  think  I  ought  to  know ;  and  I 
think  so  too.  So  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  very  truth.  Did 
you  do  it  ?  " 

Gardiner  met  her  pleading  glance,  and  a  confession  rose 
to  his  lips.  Then  —  whether  he  caught  some  shade  of  ex- 
pression which  was  not  wholly  innocent :  whether  the  truth 
was  that  at  heart  he  really  trusted  no  one  save  Denis  and 
his  father  —  he  temporized. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  think  so  much  of  you !  " 

"How  much  do  you  think  of  me?  Enough  to  warrant 
my  telling  you  a  thing  like  that?  —  always  supposing  I'd 
done  it,  of  course,  which  I  don't  admit." 

"  Yes." 

"  It  would  be  next  door  to  murder,  you  know.  A  man 
wouldn't  be  safe  to  confess  a  murder  except  to  his  wife." 

"  Oh !  —  well,  tell  me,  then." 

"You  mean  that?" 

She  nodded. 

"Sure?" 

"  Yes,  yes.     Tell  me." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Gardiner,  with  an  exultant  laugh,  "  when 
you're  my  wife,  I  will !  " 

He  stepped  forward  and  took  her  in  his  arms.  Dorothea 
struggled,  and  he  thought  little  of  it;  but  she  got  her  arm 
free,  doubled  her  fist,  and  hit  out  with  such  fury  that  he 
let  her  go,  and  fell  back,  his  illusions  tumbling  about  his 
ears.  What  a  face  she  turned  on  him  —  all  coarsened  and 
distorted  with  passion ! 

"  I  hate  you,"  she  said. 

"  You  loved  me  just  now !  " 

"  Never,  never.     I  never  did.     I  wish  you  were  in  hell. 


82  CONVICT  B14 

Oh!  shall  I  ever  feel  clean  again?"  She  was  scrubbing 
away  at  her  face  as  if  she  would  have  scraped  off  the  skin. 
Gardiner  stared,  stupefied.  Suddenly  he  gripped  her  arm. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

Dorothea  shook  him  off  frantically;  all  her  plans  went 
overboard  in  one  surge  of  fury. 

"  The  wife  of  the  man  you  murdered !  " 


CHAPTER  X 
A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

This  is  away  in  the  fields  —  miles! 

Pippa  Passes 

ON  the  day  after  Denis  left  the  Bellevue,  Dorothea  also 
departed,  with  her  mountain  of  trunks.  She  did  not  see 
Gardiner  again.  Louisa  paid  the  bill.  The  feelings  of  the 
rejected  lover,  who  had  to  make  up  the  account  and  take  the 
money,  deserve  mention  as  being  probably  unique. 

On  the  second  morning  after  this,  Lettice  received  a  letter 
from  her  cousin,  inclosing  a  cheque  for  £20  and  an  entreaty 
that  she  would  stay  on  at  the  Bellevue.  "  Send  it  back,  my 
dear  girl,  if  you  don't  feel  like  taking  it,"  Denis  wrote,  "  or 
call  it  a  loan :  I'd  much  rather  you  didn't,  but  I  shan't  feel 
hurt  if  you  do.  Only  remember  I  don't  need  the  money,  and 
I'd  rather  spend  it  this  way  than  any  other.  I  hate  to  see 
you  looking  seedy,  and  you're  not  anything  like  fit  yet,  you 
know.  Besides,  I'd  like  you  and  Gardiner  to  get  to  know 
each  other.  You  never  would,  so  long  as  I  was  there  in  the 
way."  A  remark  which  showed  that  Denis  was  no  fool. 
Lettice,  who  had  been  looking  forward  to  an  unpeaceful  time 
in  the  bosom  of  her  family,  accepted  the  loan  with  simple 
gratitude,  and  stayed.  It  was  easy  to  take  favors  from 
Denis:  could  higher  testimonial  be  given? 


Bredon  was  a  seaside  place  without  a  single  villa;  just 
half-a-dozen  old  cottages  and  a  new  church,  standing  on 
the  verge  of  the  chalk  cliffs  of  Thanet.  This  church  was  a 
building  of  surprising  ugliness,  red  brick  outside,  decorated 


84  CONVICT  B14 

inside  with  stenciled  texts  chopped  up  like  pieces  of  a  jigsaw 
puzzle.  The  east  window  had  paper  transparencies,  leaded 
and  colored  to  imitate  glass.  The  holy  table  was  a  table, 
with  obvious  legs,  having  the  Ten  Commandments  above  and 
a  Bible  upon  it  —  none  of  your  papistical  altars.  The  vicar 
was  a  robust  Evangelical  with  a  mustache.  Denis  did  not 
like  him  very  much,  but  he  approved  of  his  doctrine,  and 
attended  his  church. 

Picture  him,  then,  on  his  first  Sunday  at  home,  coming 
out  into  the  churchyard  among  that  humble  congregation 
(vicar's  wife,  vicar's  man,  school  children,  candidate  for 
coals,  village  policeman  in  uniform,  one  girl  — 

"  And  what  took  her  there,  do  you  guess  ? 

Her  sweet  little  duck  of  a  bonnet, 
And  her  new  second-hand  silk  dress") 

and  setting  forth  on  his  three-mile  tramp  across  the  marshes. 
Denis  would  neither  cycle,  motor,  nor  fly  upon  a  Sunday. 
This  was  the  more  inconvenient  because,  if  Bredon  was  out 
of  the  world,  Dandelion  Farm,  the  present  home  of  the 
Smith  aeroplane,  might  be  said  to  be  howling  in  the  wilder- 
ness. 

It  was  still  early  in  September,  and  after  a  rainy  night 
the  sky  was  blue  again,  the  air  crystal-pure  over  the  flat 
green  land.  The  road  had  neither  fence  nor  hedgerow,  but 
on  either  side  a  dark  blue  ribbon  of  water  lay  brimming 
and  crumpling  in  the  sea  wind.  Other  such  dikes,  inter- 
secting, ruled  out  the  square  fields  of  Thanet,  where  red 
cattle,  like  wooden  beasts  out  of  a  Noah's  Ark,  grazed  on 
pastures  coarsely  green.  There  was  no  sign  of  autumn  but 
in  the  sedge,  withered  putty-color,  and  rustling  a  dry,  pleas- 
ant song.  In  spring  the  yellow  iris  fringed  the  waterways ; 
later,  forget-me-not,  loosestrife,  meadow-sweet;  now  only 
the  tall  mud-clotted  stems  of  the  willow-herb,  and  its  pink 
stars  seeding  in  silvery  down.  Denis  walked  on,  content. 
He  did  not  consciously  think  about  his  surroundings,  but 
unconsciously  he  was  happier  here  than  among  the  hills 
and  woods  of  Arden.  Thanet  was  English,  and  he  was 


A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  85 

English  —  well,  he  was  Irish;  but  he  had  all  the  English- 
man's conservatism  and  love  for  the  ways  of  home,  what 
foreigners  call  his  insularity. 

Straight  ahead  at  the  end  of  the  track  rose  a  delicately 
penciled  group  of  trees,  with  a  gray  roof  showing  beside, 
and  white  dots  of  sheep  on  the  gray-green  of  their  pasture. 
This  was  Dandelion,  videlicet  Dent-de-lion.  Till  a  few 
months  since,  the  partners  had  rented  a  bungalow  on  the 
sands  near  Bredon ;  but  there  Denis  had  been  so  pestered 
with  interviewers,  autograph  hunters,  and  less  estimable 
gentry  who  came  to  pick  his  brains,  that  after  some  debate 
they  had  transferred  themselves  to  this  lodge  in  the  wilder- 
ness. Part  of  the  ground  that  went  with  the  house  was  to 
be  flooded,  for  the  use  of  seaplanes ;  while  there  was  ample 
space  in  addition  for  an  aerodrome  and  for  workshops, 
hangars,  etc.,  which  could  be  shut  off  behind  a  palisading, 
and  defy  curiosity. 

These  new  erections  were  frankly  ugly,  but  there  was  a 
certain  dignity  about  the  square  gray  Georgian  farm-house 
and  its  outbuildings.  Denis  passed  a  barn,  its  thatched 
roof  cushioned  with  mosses,  then  a  haystack,  exhaling  its 
warm  sweet  scent,  then  the  stone  gate-posts  of  the  entrance. 
The  gate  was  open,  and  he  paused  to  latch  it;  gates  left 
to  swing  shake  off  their  hinges.  He  walked  round  the  curve 
of  the  drive,  his  mind  agreeably  occupied  with  thoughts  of 
cold  beef,  came  in  sight  of  the  pillared  portico  —  thrice 
horrid  sight !  there  was  a  car  standing  at  the  door ! 

It  was  not  his  partner's,  for  the  letter  was  P,  not  LD; 
nor  was  the  car  itself  much  like  the  battered  and  beloved 
old  racer  which  Wandesforde  liked  to  use.  This  was  a 
Rolls-Royce  touring  car  of  the  present  year's  model.  No 
chauffeur  was  in  charge.  After  prowling  round  to  satisfy 
the  curiosity  which  any  piece  of  machinery  roused  in  his 
engineer's  brain,  Denis  went  into  the  house  to  make  inquiries. 
The  porch  opened  into  a  passage  with  rooms  on  either  side. 
Denis  was  tiptoeing  towards  the  kitchen,  where  he  hoped  to 
find  his  man,  when  the  door  on  the  left  opened  suddenly, 
revealing  the  visitor  —  Dorothea  O'Connor. 


86  CONVICT  B14 

"  So  here  you  are  at  last !  "  she  said.  "  I  ant  so  glad ! 
I've  been  stuck  here  ever  since  eleven !  " 

Denis  did  not  echo  her  joy.  "  I  thought  you  were  at 
Rochehaut ! " 

"  Me  ?  No,  wasn't  it  funny  ?  I  had  to  leave,  in  a  hurry, 
the  very  day  after  you  did.  I  came  off  down  here  first  thing 
this  morning.  It's  a  glorious  run  through  Kent  —  the  car 
did  travel !  " 

"  Your  chauffeur,  I  suppose,  is  in  with  my  man  ?  " 

"  Isn't.  I  didn't  bring  one,"  she  airily  explained.  "  I 
didn't  bring  anybody.  I  hate  being  driven,  I  like  to  do 
things  for  myself.  I've  come  to  see  the  aeroplanes,  you 
know.  I  told  you  I  should !  " 

She  stuck  her  hands  in  her  pockets  and  propped  her 
slim  shoulders  against  the  wall,  looking  up  with  a  naughty 
and  audacious  tilt  of  the  chin.  "  Here  I  am  and  you  can't 
get  rid  of  me !  "  she  seemed  to  say. 

Denis  did  not  want  her  in  the  least.  It  was  two  o'clock, 
and  humanity  constrained  him  to  ask  her  to  lunch  ;  there  was 
not  an  inn  for  miles  where  she  could  get  a  meal,  if  he  didn't, 
and  she  must  actually  have  seen  his  cold  beef  on  the  table. 
But  Denis  was  an  Irishman,  with  strict  ideas  of  propriety. 
Dorothea,  not  for  the  first  time,  had  forgotten  her  part ;  while 
posing  as  a  young  girl,  she  claimed  the  freedom  of  a  married 
woman.  Reading  her  mistake  in  his  face,  she  was  quick  to 
seize  the  bull  by  the  horns. 

"  I  suppose  I've  no  business  here,  and  I  know  you  don't 
want  me,  but  I'm  not  going  back  now  till  I've  seen  every- 
thing !  "  she  announced ;  and  then,  melting  into  the  wheedling, 
insinuating  smile  of  a  child :  "  You  can  look  on  me  as  a  man 
and  a  brother,  or  you  can  count  me  as  business  —  I  am  — 
I  don't  care  what  you  do,  only  do  forgive  me,  and  do,  do,  do 
ask  me  to  lunch,  for  I'm  so  hungry ! " 

Denis  smiled  too,  though  stiffly,  making  the  best  of  it. 
"  I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  show  you  the  place,  Miss  O'Con- 
nor, but  it's  a  pity  you've  come  to-day,  for  you'll  not  see  any 
flyin'.  The  men  are  all  home,  you  know." 


A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  87 

"  Why,  I  came  on  purpose  because  I  thought  Sunday  was 
the  day ! " 

"  It  isn't  with  us." 

Dorothea  was  subdued.  She  did  not  ask  why,  but  meekly 
reentered  the  room.  The  partners  had  divided  the  house 
between  them,  and  this  was  Denis's  den,  corresponding  to 
Wandesforde's  across  the  passage.  Wandesforde,  though 
he  lived  in  town  and  was  only  a  casual  visitor  at  Dent-de- 
lion,  had  made  himself  extremely  comfortable ;  Denis  had 
brought  his  old  furniture  from  Bredon  and  dumped  it  in 
the  room,  just  as  it  was.  There  were  two  sash  windows, 
filled  with  small  panes.  Under  one  stood  a  table  as  big  as  a 
four-poster,  covered  with  papers.  Denis  could  lay  his  hand 
on  any  packet  in  the  dark;  but  when  papers  are  in  order, 
unfortunately  it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  tidy.  In  the 
middle  of  the  floor  stood  a  second  table,  just  large  enough  to 
take  Denis's  plate  and  the  cold  beef.  Beside  the  fireplace, 
which  had  a  marbled  wooden  mantelpiece,  stood  a  pair  of 
leathern  arm-chairs,  once  plum-colored,  now  seamed  with 
white  cracks,  and  with  every  spring  broken.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  drab  paper,  fading  to  yellow,  there  was  a 
square  of  drab  drugget  on  the  floor,  and  the  ceiling  was  drab 
also,  from  ancient  lamp  smoke.  Dorothea  thought  in  passing 
that  it  was  the  ugliest  room  she  had  ever  been  in,  but  she,  like 
Denis,  was  highly  indifferent  to  her  surroundings. 

But  she  was  by  no  means  indifferent  to  her  host;  she 
thought  him  the  handsomest  man  she  had  ever  seen,  an 
opinion  held  by  other  young  ladies  before  her,  though 
Denis's  looks  were  not  at  all  in  the  style  of  the  barber's 
block.  He  was  just  under  six  feet  in  height,  lightly  built 
and  light  in  movement,  all  bone  and  sinew.  His  face  was 
thin  too,  a  little  pinched  at  the  temples,  a  little  hollow  in 
the  cheeks,  with  dark  brows,  dark  hair,  and  a  white  skin 
which  burnt  biscuit-brown,  not  red.  Irish  coloring  and 
deep-set,  dark  blue  Irish  eyes,  "  put  in  with  a  dirty  finger  " 
under  their  long  soft  lashes.  The  lower  part  of  the  face, 
nose  and  lips  and  chin,  was  most  delicately  modeled,  fine, 


88  CONVICT  BU 

high-bred,  rather  ascetic  in  type.  In  short,  he  was  as  hand- 
some as  a  paladin,  d,  fendre  le  cceur,  and  so  purely  indifferent 
to  the  fact,  one  way  or  the  other,  that  Lettice  when  she  poked 
her  soft  fun  at  him  got  no  more  than  an  absent-minded  smile. 
No  rises  were  to  be  had  in  that  quarter.  But  Dorothea  was 
not  given  to  poking  fun  at  people;  she  planted  her  elbows 
on  the  table  and  her  chin  in  her  hands,  adoring  his  looks, 
hanging  breathless  on  his  words,  divided  in  admiration  be- 
tween his  person  and  his  profession  —  and  how  those  great 
eyes  of  hers  could  lighten  and  glow !  They  were  not  the 
same  eyes,  she  was  not  the  same  girl  who  had  poured  out 
her  lightnings  on  Harry  Gardiner. 

In  telling  her  tale  to  Lettice,  Dorothea  had  said  less 
than  the  truth.  For  one  thing,  she  was  ashamed  to  own 
that  she  had  been  physically  afraid  of  her  uncle.  The 
anger  of  a  stupid  and  wrong-headed  man  may  be  a  very 
brutal  thing.  When  he  threatened  to  knock  her  down, 
Dorothea  gave  in,  in  helpless  rage  and  humiliation,  bad 
companions  for  a  high-spirited  girl.  Also  she  suffered  more 
than  she  herself  realized  from  her  isolation.  Dorothea  was 
the  born  devotee;  she  would  never  have  learned  to  hate  if 
she  had  had  any  one  to  adore.  But  she  was  quite  alone. 
The  neighborhood  was  up  in  arms,  no  doubt,  but  nobody 
was  anxious  to  stand  forth  as  her  champion :  partly  because 
people  are  always  loath  to  interfere  in  a  neighbor's  business, 
partly  because  the  unlucky  little  heiress  had  been  painted  by 
her  loving  relatives  in  such  very  lurid  colors  that  some  of 
the  paint  had  stuck. 

Then  came  Major  Trent  to  stay  at  the  Anglers'  Rest. 
He  met  Dorothea  one  morning  when  she  had  been  sent 
out  to  exercise  her  aunt's  Chow.  The  amiable  Xit  tried 
to  bite  the  stranger,  and  did  bite  Dorothea  when  she  hauled 
him  off.  Naturally  Trent  expressed  his  concern.  Naturally 
Dorothea  did  not  mention  the  incident  at  home.  They  met 
again  next  day,  of  course  by  chance,  in  the  same  place  — 
in  fine,  Dorothea  had  found  her  champion.  The  affair  was 
rushed  through  in  a  month.  Mrs.  O'Connor  woke  up  one 
morning  to  miss  her  early  cup  of  tea.  She  descended  in  a 


A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  89 

dressing-gown  to  scold  Dorothea,  but  no  Dorothea  was  to 
be  found.  She  had  gone,  without  leaving  so  much  as  the 
traditional  note  on  her  pin-cushion.  Next  day  came  the 
announcement  of  her  marriage,  by  special  license,  to  Major 
Trent,  D.S.O. 

Dorothea  when  she  married  was  innocent  and  ignorant 
as  a  child.  She  came  to  Trent  with  eager  fresh  gratitude 
and  affection.  She  spent  eight  months  with  him;  eight 
feverish,  hothouse^forcing  months  of  premature  emotion. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  time,  when  his  passion  had  cooled, 
and  when  she  herself  was  calmed  and  steadied  by  the  hope 
of  motherhood,  she  began  to  look  at  her  battered  knight 
with  wondering  eyes,  which  would  soon  have  grown  critical. 
His  tragic  death,  however,  made  criticism  disloyal,  and  in- 
vested Trent  with  all  his  former  glories.  It  swept  away, 
too,  the  hope  to  which  the  girl  had  been  looking  forward 
with  grave,  ennobling  joy.  Only  Louisa  knew  how  frantic- 
ally Dorothea  grieved  for  her  baby.  Her  long  illness  was 
really  an  obstinate  refusal  to  be  comforted.  Louisa,  it  may 
be  noted,  had  not  been  Dorothea's  devoted  nurse.  She  had 
been  Mr.  O'Connor's  incomparable  cook ;  and  the  unkindest 
blow  his  niece  dealt  was  that  she  carried  off,  when  she  went, 
the  only  perfect  maker  of  souffles  he  had  ever  known. 

Here  was  Dorothea,  then,  at  twenty-one,  half  a  child 
and  half  a  woman,  frantic  with  grief,  and  convinced  that 
the  murderer  of  her  husband  and  child  was  going  free  un- 
punished. She  vowed  herself  to  vengeance  as  a  sacred  duty. 
She  was  unpersuadably  sure  that  all  she  had  done  to  Gar- 
diner was  justifiable.  But  Denis  was  different.  True,  he 
had  screened  the  murderer,  but  Dorothea  couldn't  but  own 
that  in  his  shoes  she  would  have  done  the  same.  She  was 
not  quite  happy  in  her  mind;  but  she  crushed  the  scruple, 
telling  herself  that  when  justice  is  done  the  innocent  must 
suffer  with  the  guilty.  She  crushed  it,  and  presently  she 
forgot  it,  yes,  and  her  vengeance  into  the  bargain,  when  they 
went  out  to  see  the  works.  Aeroplanes  are  so  exciting! 
After  all,  Dorothea  was  not  much  more  than  a  baby,  and  she 
had  long  arrears  of  play  to  make  up. 


90  CONVICT  B14 

In  old  days,  Denis  and  his  man  Simpson  had  built  the  ma- 
chines with  their  own  hands ;  later,  at  Bredon,  they  employed 
half-a-dozen  men ;  now  there  were  twenty,  and  the  number 
was  growing.  Behind  the  tall  palisade  a  nest  of  sheds  was 
springing  up  —  wood  and  metal  working  shops,  rigging 
rooms,  offices,  stores,  Simpson's  cabin  where  he  slept  as  night 
watchman,  and  finally  the  hangars.  Great  ugly  erections  of 
brickwork  and  corrugated  iron,  with  gable  ends  and  sliding 
doors,  they  caught  the  eye  at  once.  The  first  held  an  un- 
finished seaplane,  marked  for  rebuilding  after  undergoing 
her  trials;  a  biplane  built  in  1911,  now  hopelessly  out  of 
date;  and  a  Bleriot  monoplane  belonging  to  Wandesforde 
which  Denis  hated,  and  which,  he  gravely  assured  his  com- 
panion, would  kill  him  if  he  gave  it  the  chance.  But  he 
hurried  Dorothea  past  these  to  the  smaller  shed,  which  con- 
tained only  one  machine :  his  favorite,  his  beloved,  the  80  h.p. 
monoplane  scout  which  had  been  entered  for  the  Birmingham 
race. 

She  was  very  small,  scarcely  larger  than  Santos-Dumont's 
famous  "  Demoiselle."  There  was  a  slender  bird-like  body, 
the  fuselage,  in  which  the  pilot  sat,  deep-sunk,  with  passenger 
behind,  engine  and  propeller  in  front,  the  two  long  blades 
standing  out  like  antennae.  Pale  wings  arched  and  tilted 
upwards  on  either  side,  curving  like  the  wings  of  a  gull  in 
flight.  The  whole  stood  on  a  light  framework,  the  chassis 
or  under-carriage,  corresponding  to  the  feet  of  a  bird. 
Dorothea  listened,  while  Denis  explained  the  perfections  of 
his  handiwork.  Tangential,  lift  coefficient,  angle  of  inci- 
dence, such  terms  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other ; 
she  was  not  interested  in  scientific  aeronautics.  Denis  was 
expounding  the  principles  of  stream-line  design,  as  shown  in 
the  curves  of  his  fuselage,  when  she  interrupted. 

"  Mr.  Merion-Smith,  will  you  teach  me  to  fly  ?  " 

"  Will  I  teach  you  to  fly  ?  " 

"  Yes.     You  said  I  could  learn.     I  want  to  learn." 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling.  "  You  should  go  to  Hendon 
or  Brooklands.  We  don't  run  a  flying  school,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Hendon  or  Brooklands,  I  want  to 


A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  91 

go  to  you,"  retorted  Dorothea  flatly.  "  I  want  you  to  build 
me  a  machine  like  this  one,  and  I  want  you  to  teach  me  to 
manage  it.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  that's  out  of  the  question." 

"Why?" 

If  Denis  had  told  the  bare  truth,  he  must  have  answered, 
Because  I  don't  want  to.  As  that  was  unsayable,  he  hedged. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  I've  no  plane  you  could  learn  on. 
You  need  a  special  school  machine,  with  duplicate  control 
for  pilot  and  pupil  —  we've  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  If  that's  all,'  I'll  buy  one." 

"  Buy  a  machine  that'll  be  no  earthly  use  to  you  six  months 
hence?" 

"  Why  not  ?  Why  shouldn't  I  throw  my  money  away  if  I 
want  to?  It's  good  for  trade,  and  it  can't  possibly  matter 
to  you !  " 

Denis  looked  as  though  it  mattered  a  good  deal.  Geral- 
dine,  who  had  followed  them  from  the  house  like  a  dog, 
seized  this  moment  to  make  a  scrambling  leap  on  his  shoul- 
der. He  steadied  her  with  one  hand  mechanically  as  she 
walked  to  and  fro,  pushing  now  her  nose  and  now  her  tail 
into  his  face,  after  the  inconsiderate  manner  of  a  happy  cat, 
but  obviously  she  was  too  much  a  matter  of  course  to  inter- 
rupt his  thoughts.  All  he  said  was :  "  I  should  wait  till  I 
was  older,  if  I  were  you." 

"  Pooh !  I'm  as  old  as  that  boy  who  was  killed  at  East- 
church  last  week,  and  he'd  had  his  ticket  for  two  years." 

"  Quite  possibly,  but  then  you  see  he  is  dead." 

"Ah,  you  say  that  because  you  think  I'm  reckless,  but 
that's  only  with  money.  I  shouldn't  be  reckless  flying,  I 
should  love  my  plane  far  too  much."  She  rubbed  her  cheek 
softly  against  the  varnished  fabric  of  the  wing. 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  Denis,  smiling. 

"  No,  it  doesn't.  I  am  careful.  I've  driven  my  car  about 
town  for  two  years  now,  and  never  had  a  summons  or  an 
accident." 

Denis  looked  at  her  with  more  respect,  but  he  continued 
to  shake  his  head.  "Go  to  Hendon  and  get  your  ticket, 


92  CONVICT  B14 

and  then  come  back  to  me,  and  I'll  build  you  a  machine 
with  pleasure." 

"  I  won't.     I'll  learn  of  you,  or  not  at  all." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  it  will  have  to  be  not  at  all." 

"Oh,  you  are  hateful,"  said  Dorothea  succinctly.  She 
turned  her  back  on  him  and  marched  towards  the  door. 
Half-way  there  she  thought  better  of  it,  and  came  back  to 
lay  her  clasped  hands  on  his  arm,  frankly  imploring.  "  Oh, 
do  teach  me !  "  she  besought.  "  Do.  Do.  You  don't  know 
how  much  I  want  it !  Why  won't  you  ?  Is  it  because  I'm 
not  a  man  ?  " 

Denis  was  driven  a  step  nearer  the  truth.  "  I've  really 
not  the  time.  I'm  a  designer,  not  an  instructor;  it  would 
not  be  fair  to  my  partner  to  undertake  outside  work." 

"  Ah,  but  I  shouldn't  take  long  to  learn.  I'm  good  with 
machinery.  Besides,  if  you  won't  teach  me  I  won't  buy 
one  of  your  machines,  and  that'll  be  worse  for  your  partner 
than  just  the  few  hours  you'd  have  to  give  up  —  two,  wasn't 
it,  that  man  learned  in  the  other  day?  Won't  you  at  least 
ask  Mr.  Wandesforde  if  he'd  mind?  Please,  please  say 
yes ! " 

Denis  was  wishing  her  at  Jericho.  He  delighted  in  a 
battle,  but  he  had  no  armor  against  coaxing.  He  did  not 
in  the  least  want  to  teach  Miss  O'Connor,  or  any  one  else, 
to  fly.  He  had  a  full  winter's  work  before  him  on  the  sea- 
plane, and  he  hated  (like  Lettice)  to  be  dragged  out  of  his 
rut.  Finally,  Dorothea  was  a  woman;  and  women  are  an 
endless  bother.  Seeing  a  chance  of  evading  her,  he  jumped 
at  it. 

"  Well,  I'll  ask  Wandesforde  if  you  like,"  he  conceded. 

Dorothea  took  her  hands  off  his  arm  with  a  nod  of  satis- 
faction. "  I  thought  I'd  get  you  to  do  it,"  she  said.  "  I 
always  know  what  I  want  and  I  generally  get  it.  It's  only 
a  question  of  wanting  it  hard  enough.  I'll  go  now,  and 
leave  you  in  peace.  You'll  write  to  him  at  once,  won't 
you  ?  " 

Oh  yes,  Denis  would  write  at  once.  He  was  already 
concocting  the  letter  as  he  locked  up  the  sheds.  "  I've  had 


A  LODGE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  93 

a  nuisance  of  a  woman  here  pretending  she  wants  to  order 
a  machine  on  condition  that  one  of  us  teaches  her  to  fly. 
Quite  young,  and  I  should  say  quite  irresponsible.  I  told 
her,  of  course,  that  we  didn't  run  a  school,  but  I  wouldn't 
absolutely  refuse  without  consulting  you." 

He  had  got  as  far  as  this  when  Dorothea  broke  in.  She 
was  looking  rather  solemn. 

"  I  forgot  to  say  one  thing.  Do  you  mind,  if  you're 
writing  to  Mr.  Gardiner,  not  telling  him  anything  about  me? 
Or  Lettice  either,"  she  added. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  said  Denis  after  a  moment. 

"  I  do  wish  it." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  At  the  steps  Dorothea  paused 
for  a  last  word. 

"  I've  had  a  quarrel  with  him.  A  bad  quarrel.  I  don't 
want  him  to  know  I'm  here,  because  if  he  does  he'll  think 
it  his  duty  to  write  and  warn  you  against  me." 

This  was  the  truth,  and,  as  truth  often  does,  it  conveyed 
a  false  impression. 

"  Gardiner?  "  said  Denis,  incredulous.  "  He  would  never 
do  that." 

"  He  would,  he  would,  you  don't  know.  He  might  not  to 
any  one  else,  but  he  would  to  you." 

This  was  true  again,  and  again  misleading.  Denis  was 
puzzled.  "  I  thought  you  and  he  were  —  friends,"  he  said. 

"  Not  now.     He  hates  me." 

"  Gardiner  hates  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Thinks  me  wicked.  Wouldn't  willingly  be  under 
the  same  roof.  He  does,  he  does.  And  we  can  never  make 
it  up.  I'm  angry  with  Lettice  too,  at  present,  but  I  shall 
make  it  up  with  her,  because  I  love  her.  But  not  with  Mr. 
Gardiner  —  never,  never." 

"  Well,  if  you  say  so,"  said  Denis,  "but  I  thought—" 

Dorothea  looked  up  with  a  flash  of  understanding.  No 
need  to  put  into  words  what  he  had  thought  about  her  and 
Gardiner. 

"  That  ?  "  she  said.     "  Oh  no  —  never,  never,  never! " 

This  time  Denis  believed  her. 


CHAPTER  XI 
COSAS  DE  BRUJAS 

I  have  been  here  before, 

But  when  or  how  I  cannot  tell. 

Sudden  Light. 

"  MY  dearest  dear,  will  you  come  for  a  little  walk  ?  " 

"  Muy  senora  mia,  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life." 

Lettice,  who  was  stooping  over  a  new  kitten  which  she 
had  adopted  since  the  departure  of  Geraldine,  straightened 
herself  and  looked  at  Gardiner  with  a  discouraging  expres- 
sion. They  were  at  the  back  of  the  house;  she  had  been 
about  to  climb  the  steep  hill  orchard  to  watch  the  sunset 
when  her  minute  friend  charged  out  of  the  kitchen  door, 
on  her  weak  little  legs  no  thicker  than  matches,  with  her 
tiny  triangular  tail  flourishing  in  the  air.  Lettice  had  not, 
however,  expected  her  host  to  follow  directly  on  the  kitten's 
heels. 

He  stood  there  laughing.  "  It's  time  for  your  evening 
constitutional.  You  haven't  been  out  once  since  Denis  went 
off.  He  left  you  in  my  charge ;  I  shan't  feel  I'm  doing  my 
duty  if  I  don't  accept  your  very  pressing  invitation." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  to  you,"  said  Lettice  deliberately. 

He  only  laughed  again. 

"  I  know  that;  you  never  do  speak  to  a  Christian  if  you 
can  possibly  get  out  of  it,  do  you?  Give  me  that  atom. 
No,  I  won't  hurt  her ;  I've  some  milk  for  her  here  —  she 
was  just  going  to  drink  it  when  she  heard  your  welcome 
footstep  and  affection  was  too  much  for  her.  Come  on, 
vidita  mia." 

Dexterously,  even  tenderly,  he  detached  the  clinging  claws 
from  Lettice's  shoulder,  and  set  down  the  mite  at  the  saucer. 
The  little  head  nodded  over  it,  sniffing  tentatively,  and  then 
94 


COSAS  DE  BRUJAS  95 

out  came  a  minute  pink  tongue  and  she  began  to  lap,  crouch- 
ing down  and  crooning  a  contented  purr.  Lettice  liked  the 
way  Gardiner  lifted  out  a  paw  which  had  insinuated  itself 
into  the  saucer,  and  stroked  one  finger  down  four  inches  of 
tabby  spine.  Then  he  looked  up. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've  an  errand  on  hand,  at  the  farm 
where  we  get  our  milk.  Will  you  come  with  me?  I  wish 
you  would.  I'm  bored  of  my  own  company." 

"Is  it  far?"  asked  Lettice  defensively. 

"  Mile.  Don't  come  if  you're  fagged,  but  sacrifice  your- 
self to  oblige  a  fellow-creature  if  it's  only  laziness  —  or 
unsociability." 

"Well,"  said  Lettice,  permitting  herself  the  hint  of  a 
smile.  She  liked  again  the  quick  way  he  picked  himself  up, 
taking  her  at  her  word  to  the  instant. 

"  Come  on,  then.  There's  only  just  time ;  I've  masses 
of  letters  to  write  before  the  post  goes,  and  I  know  you  aren't 
going  to  be  hurried." 

For  all  his  quickness  (and  he  was  instinctively  quick  and 
light  in  every  movement),  Lettice  found  him  a  more  con- 
siderate companion  than  Denis,  who  walked  her  off  her  legs. 
Their  way  led  up  through  the  steep  hill  orchard  to  the  grassy 
hill-side  above.  Once  he  stopped  and  turned  to  help  her 
over  the  rough  ground,  but  when  she  silently  avoided  seeing 
his  extended  hand,  he  did  not  offer  it  again.  Denis,  rooted 
in  his  old-fashioned  courtesy,  had  never  learned  to  leave  her 
alone.  This  was  a  very  different  type  of  mind;  less  restful, 
because  more  perceptive.  When  they  reached  the  crest  of 
the  hill  he  pulled  up.  Lettice  tried  to  persuade  herself  it 
was  not  done  to  let  her  get  her  breath,  but  she  was  quite 
sure  it  was. 

"  See  that  hedge  over  there  ? "  he  said,  pointing  across 
the  expanse  of  level  silvery  grass.  "  Well,  you'd  never  think 
it,  but  beyond  that  it's  nothing  but  arable  flats,  beet  and 
cabbages  and  potatoes,  all  the  way  to  Rochehaut.  Anything 
duller  you  can't  imagine.  And  yet  under  this  very  spot 
where  we're  standing  there's  a  cave  that's  never  been  ex- 
plored, running  Lord  knows  how  deep  into  the  hill.  Stalac- 


96  CONVICT  B14 

tites  and  stalagmites  and  an  underground  river.  I  went  in 
once  with  my  torch,  but  I  had  to  come  back  —  too  unsafe. 
Some  day  I'll  have  that  place  shored  up  and  made  accessible, 
and  charge  five  francs  for  admission,  like  the  caves  of  Han. 
Leg-up  for  the  Bellevue,  what?  I  like  this  sort  of  mixed 
grill,  you  know,  wild  and  tame  together  —  I  like  all  this 
country.  No,  not  that  way  —  there's  some  view  from  the 
crucifix  you  see  against  the  sky-line,  but  we  haven't  time  for 
it  to-night.  Along  here,  through  the  wood." 

Lettice  looked  round,  before  following  him  into  the  copse 
of  starveling  firs,  and  gorse,  and  ragged  heather.  From 
where  they  stood,  a  little  below  the  crucifix,  they  could  not 
see  the  valley ;  only  the  silvery  undulating  hill-side,  and  the 
evening  sky,  and  the  grasses  leaning  sidelong  in  the  wind. 
It  was  lonely  and  bare  enough  to  please  her.  "  Are  you 
going  to  stop  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  am.  D.V.  What?  Oh  yes,  I'm  pious  in  my  way, 
especially  when  I  get  off  alone  among  these  hills.  I  believe 
I  belong  here  —  sort  of  ancestral  feeling ;  talking  of  which, 
I'll  show  you  something  rather  queer  at  the  farm  when  we 
get  there.  Yes,  I'm  going  to  stay,  if  I'm  let."  He  walked 
on,  twirling  his  stick  in  the  air.  "  Last  time  I  was  up  here 
it  was  with  Miss  O'Connor,"  he  added  irrelevantly. 

Lettice  was  a  good  deal  surprised ;  she  thought  she  under- 
stood now  why  he  had  not  wished  to  come  alone.  She  had 
not  been  told,  but  she  knew,  as  well  from  his  looks  as  from 
Dorothea's  headlong  flight,  that  the  explosion  had  come. 
Gardiner  might  keep  up  his  laugh,  that  eternal  laugh  which 
grated  on  a  sensitive  ear  like  the  squeaking  of  a  pen,  but  he 
could  not  hide  the  change  in  his  features,  pinched  and  sharp- 
ened by  suffering.  Suffering  —  yes  —  pain :  physical  pain, 
that  was  what  his  face  betrayed :  not  grief.  His  dark  eyes  — 
they  were,  the  poet  decided,  like  the  depths  of  a  pine-wood : 
dark  blackish-brown,  with  undertones  of  dark  green  —  were 
like  those  of  a  dog  that  has  been  run  over.  No  one  else 
seemed  to  notice  anything  wrong ;  at  the  pension  one  woman 
had  remarked  casually  that  Mr.  Gardiner  was  looking  seedy, 
that  was  all ;  but  then  no  one  but  Lettice  held  the  key. 


COSAS  DE  BRUJAS  97 

If  his  frankness  surprised  her,  it  surprised  himself  more, 
for  he  had  by  no  means  intended  to  mention  Dorothea.  He 
sheered  off  the  subject  in  a  hurry.  "  I've  been  up  here 
most  evenings  lately,"  he  said.  "  Madame  Hasquin  has  a 
bureau  on  which  I've  set  my  heart ;  she  means  me  to  have  it 
in  the  end,  but  I  can't  get  her  to  terms.  No,  it's  not  the 
money,  it's  the  fun  —  sheer  delight  in  bargaining.  I  don't 
mind.  It's  rather  jolly  up  here  in  the  evenings,  you  get  the 
sunset;  and  it's  soul-refreshingly  lonely.  This  wood  — 
you'd  never  guess  there  was  a  house  within  five  minutes, 
would  you  ?  Stand  still  a  moment." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  to  detain  her,  and  the  silence 
fell  on  them  like  a  pall.  Not  a  leaf  stirred ;  the  firs  raised 
their  black  spikes  rigid  against  the  sky,  some  erect,  some 
doubled  and  contorted  like  ogres.  Brambles,  crouching  low, 
thrust  out  long  stealthy  clutching  claws  across  the  track. 
The  sky  was  golden,  and  gold  were  the  strips  of  water  lying 
in  the  ruts,  winding  away  to  the  open  hill  and  safety ;  but  the 
wood  was  dark,  dark,  and  already  in  its  depths,  here  and 
there,  a  glow-worm  had  lit  its  tiny  keen  speck  of  unearthly 
fire,  glass-green,  steady,  burning  but  unconsumed.  "  That's 
the  way  to  the  cave,"  murmured  Gardiner,  his  voice  drop- 
ping, his  grip  tightening  on  her  arm.  "  Cosas  de  brujas  — 
witches,  I  mean.  Never  tell  me  a  wood  isn't  alive !  " 

He  meant  it.  Lettice,  who  professed  to  be  stolid,  found 
herself  responding  to  his  fancy  with  an  involuntary  thrill. 
There  was  something  wrong  about  the  place ;  it  had  its  finger 
on  its  lip ;  it  seemed  to  hold  a  secret  of  its  own,  to  threaten 
them  with  it,  to  jeer  at  their  un foreseeing  ignorance. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  sudden  outburst  of  merry 
childish  laughter  and  the  sharp  barks  of  a  dog.  Gardiner 
laughed  too,  releasing  her.  "  And  now  come  on.  Round 
this  corner  —  mind  the  gate,  it'll  pinch  your  fingers,  better 
let  me.  There  :  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

They  were  clear  of  the  wood  and  out  on  the  open  hill- 
side, looking  down  into  a  valley,  a  green  crease  among  velvet- 
green  hills  softly  molded,  falling  away  to  a  line  of  trees, 
among  which  tinkled  the  crystal  cascades  of  a  brook.  On 


98  CONVICT  BU 

the  upward  slope  beyond  rose  a  group  of  buildings.  A 
round  squat  tower,  a  line  of  loopholed  wall ;  the  low  white 
front  of  a  dwelling-house,  rising  among  golden  ricks;  the 
flickering  brightness  of  a  bonfire,  a  tall,  slender  ribbon  of 
golden  incandescence,  burning  in  a  golden  fume,  gilding  the 
dark  branches  of  the  orchard,  loosing  flakes  of  flame  and 
drifts  of  lavender-gray  smoke  into  the  lavender-blue  of  the 
sky.  Two  children  and  a  dog  were  dancing  round  it,  feeding 
it  with  masses  of  golden  bracken ;  it  was  their  laughter  which 
had  broken  into  the  enchanted  wood. 

"  When  the  Bellevue  started  life  as  a  convent,  that  was 
the  convent  farm,"  said  Gardiner.  "  Fortified  —  Lord,  yes, 
they  needed  forts  in  those  days ;  it  dates  from  Spanish 
times.  Didn't  you  know  that?  There's  not  much  of  the 
old  stuff  left  in  my  Bellevue,  bar  the  gateway  and  the 
salle,  which  is  substantially  the  old  refectory.  But  that 
old  tower  down  there  is  pretty  much  as  it  was  in  the  be- 
ginning. Ferme  de  la  Croix,  they  call  it ;  Convent  of  the 
Holy  Cross,  you'd  say,  but  I  don't  myself  believe  that's  the 
origin  of  the  name.  Come  on  down  and  I'll  show  you." 

Lettice  had  not  contributed  much  in  words  to  the  con- 
versation, but  she  had  done  her  part  for  all  that,  in  following 
the  quick  turns  of  his  mind.  They  went  down,  crossed  a 
bridge  built  of  slabs  of  uncut  stone,  and  were  greeted  at  the 
door  by  a  woman  of  fifty  who  looked  seventy.  She  had  not 
a  tooth  in  her  head ;  it  was  hard  to  believe  she  was  the  mother 
and  not  the  grandmother  of  the  two  tow-headed  children. 
"  Eh,  monsieur,  quelles  nouvelles  ?  "  But  the  sweetness  of 
her  smile  redeemed  the  plainness  of  her  face. 

Gardiner  followed  her  down  a  white  passage,  not  one  line 
of  which  was  true,  into  a  low-pitched,  pleasant  living-room, 
with  scarlet  geraniums  in  the  window.  There  beside  the 
open  hearth  stood  the  bureau,  black  as  bog  oak  and  richly 
carved,  with  shining  brass  handles  on  drawers  that  slipped 
in  and  out  at  the  touch  of  a  finger.  Madame  chattered  in 
her  abominable  Walloon  French,  Gardiner  laughed  and 
argued  back;  it  was  sadly  plain  to  Lettice,  who  could  dis- 
tinguish such  niceties,  that  he  had  picked  up  the  accent  of 


COSAS  DE  BRUJAS  99 

the  country.  There  are  disadvantages  in  being  imitative. 
They  came  to  the  question  of  price,  and  Lettice,  feeling  her- 
self de  trap,  withdrew  to  the  open  door.  She  waited  there, 
between  rose  and  crimson  hollyhocks,  making  love  to  a  lean 
flanked  sandy  cat  who  rushed  effusively  out  of  the  stable- 
yard,  and  reared  herself  on  hind  legs  to  press  her  hard  head 
against  the  visitor's  hand.  The  children  had  disappeared, 
but  their  voices  were  heard  in  the  orchard.  In  the  west, 
soft  bluish  clouds  were  floating  on  lakes  of  burning  rose. 
A  big  star  was  born  above  the  dark  spires  of  the  enchanted 
wood,  keen  silver  in  the  faint  and  fading  gold. 

Gardiner  came  out  in  high  good-humor.  "  You've  brought 
me  luck,"  he  said.  "  Madame's  given  in  at  last.  I've  had 
my  eye  on  the  bureau  ever  since  the  first  time  I  came  up 
here  —  haven't  I,  madame?  And  now,  when's  the  four- 
poster  coming?  When  I've  been  at  you  about  it  for  another 
couple  of  years  —  is  that  the  idea?  " 

"  Jamis,  ja-mais,"  said  madame,  vigorously  shaking  her 
head,  laughing  all  over  her  wrinkles.  "  Non,  monsieur,  non. 
Je  tiens  a  mon  lit,  savez-vous !  " 

"Et  moi  aussi,  j'y  tiens,  et  je  vas  1'avoir,  savez-vous?" 
Gardiner  laughed  back,  cheerfully  ungrammatical.  He  laid 
his  hand  again  on  Lettice's  arm  —  a  small  elegant  brown 
hand :  in  nothing  was  he  more  un-English  than  in  the  shape 
and  size  of  his  hands  and  feet:  Lettice  looked  down  on  it 
with  an  insulted  expression  which  was  quite  wasted,  as  he 
wheeled  her  round  to  face  the  house  — "  Here's  what  I  said 
I'd  show  you;  it  really  is  rather  queer.  That  stone  above 
the  arch  —  do  you  see  ?  " 

The  farm  had  a  square-shouldered  doorway;  the  head- 
piece was  a  single  massive  block  of  stone.  Deep  carved 
thereon,  in  the  same  old-fashioned  numerals  which  appeared 
on  the  lintel  of  the  Bellevue,  was  the  same  date:  1548. 
Above  the  date  was  lettering,  moss-grown  and  indistinct. 

"  Can  you  read  it  ?  "  asked  Gardiner. 

Was  there  anything  requiring  eyes  which  Lettice  could 
not  read  ?  "  Manuel  de  la  Cruz,"  she  spelt  out. 

"  Cruz,"  Gardiner  corrected  her,  giving  to  the  "  z  "  its  soft 


100  CONVICT  B14 

Castilian  lisp.  "  Now  I  do  not  in  the  least  believe  the  con- 
vent, and  consequently  this  farm,  was  dedicated  to  the  Holy 
Cross.  I  believe  it  was  named  for  its  founder.  But  the  odd 
part  of  the  story  is  that  it's  my  name  as  well.  My  mother 
was  half  Spanish  —  born  Florentina  de  la  Cruz;  and  I'm 
called  after  her :  Henry  de  la  Cruz  Gardiner." 

"  Well,  that  is  queer,"  said  Lettice,  for  once  with  con- 
viction. 

"Isn't  it?  There  aren't  so  many  traces  left  of  the 
Spanish  occupation ;  I  call  it  something  of  a  coincidence  that 
that  should  have  survived,  and  that  I  should  come  on  it  — 
should  actually  take  over  and  settle  down  in  the  house  built 
by  my  namesake.  Of  course  it's  a  not  uncommon  name  in 
Spain,  but  it  does  set  one  thinking.  And  see  here,  too." 
He  dragged  her  across  to  the  tower.  The  gateway  was  half 
ruinous;  one  of  the  jambs  had  fallen,  bringing  some  of  the 
stones  along  with  it,  and  others  seemed  ready  to  follow. 
"  No,  this  isn't  war's  alarms,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact  I 
have  found  a  cannon  ball  embedded  in  the  barn.  Jules 
backed  the  engine  into  it  the  other  day.  This  lintel's  all 
cock-eye,  but  you  can  still  see  the  cross  and  initials  —  can 
you?  —  carved  on  the  end  here."  He  was  tracing  out  the 
mark. 

"  Take  care !  "  said  Lettice  suddenly. 

She  was  too  late.  The  stone  above  —  perhaps  he  had 
brushed  against  it ;  at  any  rate,  it  settled  down,  quietly  and 
inexorably,  grinding  his  hand  between  itself  and  the  block 
below.  Lettice's  arm  sprang  out ;  she  could  be  quick  on  oc- 
casion, but  he  was  quicker  still.  "  No !  keep  off !  "  he  cried 
out,  instantly  fending  her  off,  shouldering  her  out  of  the 
way ;  and  in  the  same  breath  he  inserted  the  point  of  his  stick 
into  the  crevice.  A  very  slight  leverage,  and  the  upper  stone 
tipped  and  fell  to  the  ground,  in  a  shower  of  dust  and  rubble. 
He  drew  away  his  hand  and  stepped  back.  "  They  ought  to 
have  that  seen  to,  I'll  warn  madame,"  he  said.  "  It's  jolly 
dangerous,  with  those  kids  about." 

"You've  hurt  yourself,"  said  Lettice. 

"  Yes,  I've  done  myself  proud  this  time,"  he  said,  and 


COSAS  DE  BRUJAS  101 

coolly  put  his  hand  behind  his  back.  "  Don't  look  at  it,  it 
isn't  pretty.  I'll  cut  in  and  get  some  warm  water  out  of 
madame,  and  do  it  up." 

He  turned  and  walked  off  to  the  house.  Unfortunately,  in 
turning  he  forgot  that  his  hand  was  behind  him,  and  Lettice 
saw  it.  It  was  dripping  blood ;  he  left  his  trail  across  the 
golden  straw  to  the  door.  Lettice  stayed  where  she  was. 
She  was  not  going  where  she  was  not  wanted.  She  felt  a 
little  sick;  not  for  the  sight  of  blood,  but  in  sympathy  with 
him.  She  had  seen  him  change  color.  Yet  he  was  cool 
enough  ;  she  could  hear  his  voice  inside,  answering  madame's 
exclamation  as  lightly  as  ever.  Presently  he  came  out  again, 
with  a  white-bandaged  paw,  and  a  face  not  much  less  pallid 
than  the  linen. 

"  Thanks  so  much  for  not  fussing,"  he  said.  "  I  had  a 
gay  ten  minutes  with  madame ;  I  thought  she  was  going  to 
embrace  me.  Let's  get  on  home  now,  do  you  mind?  All 
this  bobbery  has  taken  the  dickens  of  a  time,  and  I've  masses 
of  things  still  to  do  before  dinner." 

Lettice  fell  in  beside  him  without  a  word.  For  once  in 
her  life,  she  walked  fast.  Gardiner  was  silent  too,  twirling 
his  stick  in  his  left  hand  instead  of  the  right.  They  had 
reached  the  hill  of  the  crucifix,  and  were  descending  the 
orchard,  before  Lettice  opened  her  lips. 

"  You  won't  be  able  to  write  your  letters.  How  will  you 
manage  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Make  shift  with  my  left 
hand,  I  suppose." 

"  You'd  better  let  me  do  them  for  you." 

"  It's  nearly  eight  o'clock.  Time  for  you  to  have  your 
supper  and  go  to  by-by." 

"  I  don't  always  go  to  bed  at  nine,"  said  Lettice. 
."  "Wpuld  you  really  be  so  good  as  to  do  it,  for  once?  " 

"  C  L  course." 

"  Servidor  dedtusted,  senorita,"  said  Gardiner,  "  que  sus 
pies  besa  —  yojrtu^rvant,  madam,  who  kisses  your  feet:  I 
don't  know  wl  that  rant  to  talk  Spanish  to  you,  but  I  un- 
doubtedly do  -way  of  \  be  inexpressibly  grateful." 


CHAPTER  XII 
ALL  IN  THE  AIR 

Hark !  I  am  called ;  my  little  spirit,  see, 
Sits  in  a  foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me. 

Macbeth. 

SYDNEY  WANDESFORDE,  Denis's  partner,  was  a  big,  heavy- 
featured,  heavily  built  man,  whose  appearance  nobody  could 
have  called  aristocratic.  Plutocratic  was  more  like  it. 
There  had  been  patent  pills  on  the  distaff  side  of  his  an- 
cestry, and  unfortunately  he  had  taken  after  them,  instead 
of  after  the  belted  earls  of  the  paternal  line.  He  had,  how- 
ever, the  easy  manners,  the  clean  movements,  the  soft  voice 
of  his  class,  and  if  he  was  plain  he  looked  able. 

He  had  never  got  beyond  surnames  with  Denis ;  which 
meant  that  he  had  never  met  the  soft  side  of  that  pugnacious 
Irish  tongue.  Denis  was  Haus-engel,  Strassteufel,  a  lamb 
to  his  friends,  a  lion  abroad.  There  were  moments  when 
Wandesforde  thought  him  the  most  irritating  man  on  the 
face  of  the  globe ;  but  he  bore  with  it,  never  coming  to  a 
quarrel,  because  he  liked  and  valued  his  partner  too  much 
to  let  him  go.  At  the  time  of  their  first  meeting,  Denis  had 
spent  every  penny  he  possessed,  and  had  nothing  to  put  into 
the  partnership  except  his  brains,  and  an  aeroplane  which  at 
that  date  (1907)  couldn't  be  induced  to  quit  the  ground. 
Yet  the  agreement  was  drawn  as  between  equals,  and 
Wandesforde  claimed  not  more  but  less  control  than  in  an 
ordinary  partnership.  Why?  Because  he  was  sbrrwd 
enough  to  see  that  Denis  would  never  work  as  a  subordinate ; 
and  because,  as  aforesaid,  he  valued  his  pa.  *:ner  too  much  to 
give  him  any  excuse  for  throwing  up  '  vork  and  going 
off  in  a  huff  of  outraged  independen-  he  would  have 

done  on  the  least  provocation  —  soime,"  he:  is  an  Ulster- 
102 


ALL  IN  THE  AIR  103 

man's  pride !  "  Give  him  his  head  ?  Of  course  I  do !  "  he 
said  with  half  a  laugh  to  his  brother,  who  had  expressed  some 
mild  surprise.  "Eccentricities  of  genius,  what?  Oh  yes, 
he  is  a  genius,  head  and  shoulders  above  the  rest  of  the 
crowd ;  and  a  nice  chap  too,  and  abso-lutely  straight.  Can't 
help  liking  him.  I  admit  he's  a  bit  trying  at  times,  but  it's 
worth  it.  I'd  rather  work  with  him  than  with  any  man 
I  know !  " 

Now  Denis  saw  the  position  as  clearly  as  his  partner; 
he  knew  that  he  could  do  pretty  much  as  he  liked,  that 
Wandesforde,  though  he  paid  the  piper,  would  carefully 
refrain  from  calling  the  tune.  Therefore,  having  a  con- 
science, he  felt  bound  to  do  of  his  own  accord  most  of  the 
things  his  partner  wanted,  but  wouldn't  ask.  All  which 
preamble  leads  us  to  the  fact  that  Wandesforde,  not  gather- 
ing from  his  letter  that  Denis  abhorred  the  idea  of  teaching 
Dorothea,  wrote  back  warmly  approving  of  the  plan.  He 
had  taken  up  flying  in  the  first  instance  to  amuse  himself; 
but  times  were  hard,  Dent-de-lion  had  been  expensive,  and 
why  shouldn't  he  recoup  himself,  as  others  had  done,  by 
laying  out  an  aerodrome  and  starting  a  flying  school  ?  The 
idea  had  been  simmering  in  his  head  for  some  time,  and  he 
poured  it  all  out  as  soon  as  Denis  gave  him  an  opening. 
Afterwards,  when  he  saw  how  the  land  lay,  he  retracted; 
but  he  had  shown  his  wishes  so  plainly  that  Denis,  ready  to 
gnash  his  teeth  for  rage,  felt  bound  to  sink  his  own  feelings 
and  accept  Dorothea  as  a  pupil.  In  the  net  he  had  laid 
privily  was  his  own  foot  taken. 

The  lessons  were  deferred,  however,  until  after  the  Bir- 
mingham race ;  in  which  Denis  met  the  luck  he  had  expected. 
Over  the  first  part  of  the  course  he  made  better  time  than  any 
of  the  other  competitors.  Between  Polesworth  and  Walsall 
he  had  to  come  down,  with  valve  trouble.  He  set  it  right, 
and  went  to  restart  the  engine  by  "swinging  the  prop," 
while  half-a-dozen  laborers  held  on  to  the  tail  of  the  ma- 
chine. Unfortunately  they  were  so  much  surprised  by  the 
sudden  pull  that  they  let  go ;  Denis  had  barely  time  to  get 
out  of  the  way  of  the  murderous  whizzing  blades.  Then 


104  CONVICT  BU 

followed  a  wildly  funny  scene,  the  monoplane  charging  about 
the  field  with  devilish  energy,  while  Denis  and  his  six  peni- 
tent assistants  pelted  after  it.  In  the  end  it  butted  its  nose 
into  the  bank,  broke  the  propeller,  and  put  itself  out  of  the 
race. 

"  I  told  you  what  would  come  of  flyin'  on  a  Friday,"  said 
Denis  in  self-righteous  gloom  to  his  partner,  over  one  of 
those  strange  meals  which  pilots  learn  to  eat  in  village 
pubs.  No  one  should  fly  who  isn't  physically  fit,  so  pre- 
sumably their  digestions  are  equal  to  the  strain.  This  meal 
had  begun  with  beer  and  bacon,  and  gone  on  to  buns  —  three- 
days-old  currant  buns. 

Wandesforde,  with  his  wife,  had  been  following  the  race 
in  a  car.  His  arm  was  still  in  a  sling,  and  his  looks  had  not 
been  improved  by  a  blow  which  had  knocked  his  front  teeth 
crooked.  He  was  patiently  mincing  up  his  bun  with  knife 
and  fork ;  bite  into  it  he  could  not. 

"  Well,  dash  it  all,  if  a  race  is  run  on  a  Friday  you  have 
to  fly  it  on  a  Friday,  don't  you  ?  "  he  said,  annoyed.  "  I 
wouldn't  have  let  you  in  if  I  could  possibly  have  held  the 
joy-stick.  I'm  not  superstitious  about  the  days  of  the  week 
myself." 

"  No,  you've  had  smashes  on  every  one  of  the  seven, 
haven't  you  ?  " 

Bearing  this  with  an  effort,  Wandesforde  gave  up  his  bun 
as  a  bad  job  and  consoled  himself  with  a  cigar.  "  I  suppose 
now  you'll  go  back  to  Dent-de-lion  and  take  on  Miss  O'Con- 
nor?" he  asked,  by  way  of  changing  the  subject. 

"  Teach  her  to  commit  suicide  expensively,"  said  the 
morose  Denis.  "  She'll  never  make  a  pilot ;  anybiddy  can 
see  that.  Women  haven't  it  in  them.  Any  old  thing  that's 
idiotic  they'll  do  —  start  without  fillin'  up  the  tank,  as  soon 
as  not ! " 

The  sting  of  this  speech  was  that  Wandesforde,  not  being 
always  as  careful  as  his  partner  deemed  desirable,  had 
recently  made  this  very  omission  himself,  and  paid  for  it  by 
crashing  a  friend's  favorite  bus.  The  silence  was  broken  by 
a  small  subdued  sound  of  amusement  from  Mrs.  Wandes- 


ALL  IN  THE  AIR  105 

forde,  which  consoled  her  husband  in  proportion  as  it  an- 
noyed Denis.  He  scowled  at  her  through  his  eyeglass,  and 
then,  muttering  something  about  the  monoplane,  stalked  out 
of  the  room. 

"  Lord !  "  said  Wandesforde,  getting  up  and  squaring  his 
broad  shoulders  against  the  mantelpiece  with  an  audible  sigh 
of  relief,  "he's  in  a  pretty  rank  temper,  what?  I  hoped  he 
hadn't  heard  about  Wyatt's  Avro.  Never  knew  him  so  cut 
up  about  a  smash  before !  " 

His  wife,  a  piece  of  silvery  transparent  loveliness,  shook 
her  fair  head.  "  Not  the  smash,"  she  pronounced,  oracular. 
"  Miss  O'Connor !  " 

Meanwhile  Dorothea  had  established  herself  in  a  furnished 
cottage  at  Bredon,  with  an  old  governess  as  companion- 
chaperon.  Miss  Byrd  had  been  living  in  an  alms-house  on 
ten  shillings  a  week,  when  her  half-forgotten  pupil  sought 
her  out.  It  should  be  noted  in  passing  that  if  Dorothea  pur- 
sued her  enemies  with  vengeance,  she  also  pursued  her 
friends  with  gratitude.  More  than  this ;  she  could  be  gener- 
ous even  to  her  enemies.  Against  her  lawyer's  advice,  she 
had  insisted  on  making  her  uncle  an  allowance.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  be  a  pig,  because  he  was !  "  she  said.  Vengeance 
and  revenge  are,  in  fact,  very  different,  as  different  as  the 
lion  and  the  hyena.  But  this  is  by  the  way;  and  indeed  at 
this  time  Dorothea's  vengeance  had  dropped  out  of  sight. 
Just  as  she  flung  herself  on  Gardiner,  so  she  had  now  at- 
tacked Denis,  without  definite  plan,  on  the  opportunist  theory 
that  something  would  turn  up ;  and  something  had,  but  not 
what  she  expected.  Her  own  youth  lifted  its  head.  She 
had  come  to  exploit  the  aeroplanes  for  her  vengeance ;  and 
lo  and  behold !  she  forgot  her  vengeance  in  the  aeroplanes. 

Denis  had  adapted  the  1911  model  for  use  as  a  school 
machine,  and  Dorothea  began  in  the  usual  way  by  "  rolling  " 
—  i.e.,  taxi-ing  on  the  ground.  Most  pupils  "  break  wood  " 
during  this  process,  for  an  aeroplane  will  run  any  way  but 
straight,  preferring  to  curl  round  like  a  puppy  after  its  own 
tail.  But  Dorothea  had  by  nature  that  automatic  sixth  sense 


106  CONVICT  B14 

of  machinery  which  most  people  acquire  only  by  practice. 
She  would  have  learned  to  fly  in  a  week,  representing  some 
three  or  four  hours  actually  in  the  air,  if  Denis  had  given 
her  full  time ;  but  he  would  not.  Three  days  out  of  the  six 
he  kept  sacred  to  his  work.  On  the  remaining  three  Dor- 
othea and  her  car  appeared  at  Dent-de-lion  whenever  the 
weather  was  favorable,  and  often  when  it  wasn't.  There 
were  many  rough  days  that  September. 

At  first  Denis  found  her  an  unmitigated  nuisance.  It 
was  bad  enough  to  put  up  with  her  when  it  was  calm ;  but 
on  a  day  of  storm  and  tempest,  with  a  fifty-mile  gale  —  then 
to  be  interrupted  by  rosy-hopeful  youth  clamoring  for  a 
lesson  —  it  was  intolerable !  Nature  had  never  designed 
Denis  for  a  teacher.  He  would  have  crushed  a  stupid  pu- 
pil. He  was  hard  even  on  Dorothea,  when  she  failed  to 
know  what  he  hadn't  told  her.  But  she  was  so  eager, 
pliant,  uncrushable,  so  ardently  in  earnest,  so  reverent  in 
attention,  so  insinuating  in  meekness :  in  a  word,  she  flattered 
him  so  sweetly  that  he  began,  unconsciously  at  first,  yet 
surely,  he  began  to  enjoy  teaching  her. 

Even  if  there  had  been  no  question  of  Trent,  Dorothea 
and  Harry  Gardiner  would  never  have  made  friends.  They 
had  nothing  in  common.  She,  a  little  materialist,  living  in 
her  feelings,  caring  not  a  rap  for  the  pleasures  of  the  mind 
or  fancy ;  he,  a  restless  thinker,  imaginative,  uneven  in  grain, 
too  close  in  sympathy  with  nature  to  be  wholly  civilized. 
That  strain  of  wildness  would  keep  him  always  solitary ;  but 
Dorothea,  though  she  had  never  yet  had  a  chance  to  find  her- 
self, was  essentially  a  home  woman.  She  wanted  to  adore, 
to  be  ruled  by,  to  mother  her  man  in  the  good  old-fashioned 
way.  All  that  would  simply  have  bored  Gardiner.  To 
Denis,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  the  ideal  of  married  life. 

They  sat  side  by  side,  his  hands  over  hers,  guiding  the 
aeroplane,  and  he  forgot  she  was  a  woman.  Not  till  then 
did  her  womanhood  begin  to  make  its  impression.  She 
had  attracted  Gardiner,  the  man  of  reason,  through  his 
senses,  she  attracted  Denis,  the  man  of  instinct,  through  his 
reason.  He  liked  the  quick  answer  of  her  mind  to  his  own. 


ALL  IN  THE  AIR  107 

Then  one  day  she  met  with  an  accident ;  her  hand  was  grazed 
by  the  propeller.  Had  it  struck  her  full  it  would  have  shorn 
off  her  fingers  in  a  moment,  and  even  as  it  was  she  was 
badly  bruised.  Denis  ordered  her  to  see  a  doctor.  Dor- 
othea, pale  but  valiant,  wanted  to  go  on  with  her  lesson. 

"  It's  the  first  fine  day  we've  had  this  week,"  she  pleaded. 
"  I  shall  never,  never  fly  if  I  stop  for  every  miserable  little 
trifle !  " 

"  I  shouldn't  think  of  lettin'  you,"  said  Denis,  grim  and 
peremptory.  "  You've  broken  one  of  the  small  bones,  as 
likely  as  not." 

"  That  I  haven't !  "  retorted  Dorothea,  giving  the  hand  a 
vigorous  shake  to  emphasize  her  words.  Denis  seized  her 
arm. 

"  Do  not  do  that !     Don't  you  feel  pain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  do,  but  I  can't  be  bothered  to  think 
about  it  when  I'm  enjoying  myself,  can  I?  " 

She  stamped  her  foot,  so  absurdly  enraged  that  Denis 
could  not  help  laughing.  Her  unceremonious  fortitude  ap- 
pealed to  him,  just  as  her  pretended  sensibility,  when  she 
cut  her  foot,  had  appealed  to  Gardiner.  Odd  that  in  each 
case  the  quality  that  drew  them  was  the  precise  opposite  of 
what  each  really  asked  for  in  a  woman ! 

Dorothea  had  to  give  way;  she  went  to  a  doctor,  and 
was  forbidden  to  use  the  hand.  This  cut  her  off  from  her 
car  as  well  as  from  flying,  for  if  she  couldn't  drive  herself 
she  wouldn't  be  driven.  "  Sit  by  and  see  a  hateful  hired 
chauffeur  doing  my  work  ?  No,  thank  you ! "  said  she. 
So  she  sulked  at  Bredon,  and  Denis  went  back  to  his  desk. 
He  had  "  scrapped "  the  old  seaplane,  lock,  stock  and 
barrel,  and  was  working  on  a  new  design,  "  a  boat  that  would 
fly  rather  than  an  aeroplane  that  would  float,"  of  his  fa- 
vorite monoplane  type.  Denis  had  long  wanted  to  build  a 
monoplane  which  should  be  for  the  English  air  service  what 
Bleriots  and  Moranes  were  for  the  French,  or  Taubes  for 
the  German;  and  as  he  wished  to  show  his  new  model  at 
the  Aero  Exhibition  in  the  spring,  he  had  his  work  cut  out. 
The  fever  of  invention  was  upon  him.  Yet  he  missed  his 


108  CONVICT  B14 

tiresome,  charming  pupil.  In  the  brief  lucid  intervals  when 
he  came  to  the  surface,  he  was  conscious  of  a  vague  dis- 
comfort which  neither  beef  nor  bed  availed  to  soothe.  Her 
accident  and  the  delay  were  giving  time  for  his  feelings  to 
mature.  Gardiner,  who  was  interested  in  his  own  mental 
processes,  would  soon  have  found  himself  out;  Denis,  a 
stranger  to  self -consciousness,  was  blind  as  any  well-brought- 
up  young  lady  of  the  fifties. 

Dorothea  came  back  at  last  unexpectedly.  After  leaving 
his  lunch  to  get  cold,  and  then  bolting  it  in  five  minutes, 
Denis  had  rushed  back  to  his  desk  to  finish  a  calculation. 
He  was  writing  the  last  figures  when  a  car  turned  in  at  the 
gates,  and  he  lifted  his  head  with  a  frown,  which  changed 
suddenly  into  a  smile  of  pleasure.  Well  he  knew  that  gay 
little  tune  on  the  horn,  the  sound  of  that  fresh  young  voice 
in  the  porch !  Down  went  his  pen,  and  out  he  hurried  to 
greet  her,  with  an  eagerness  which  surprised  himself. 

*'  Here's  your  bad  penny  again,  you  see !  "  she  cried,  com- 
ing in  with  the  scent  of  the  wind  on  her  suit  and  the  rose 
of  it  in  her  cheeks.  "  Aren't  you  sick  to  see  me  ?  Old 
Turner  said  this  morning  I  might  use  my  hand,  so  I  came 
straight  off.  But  what  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself? 
You  look  half  starved  —  doesn't  he,  Birdie?  Have  you  had 
any  lunch?  If  you  haven't  it's  very  wrong  of  you,  and  I 
shall  just  stand  over  you  till  it's  gone  —  do  you  hear?  " 

Denis,  laughing,  lingered  to  shake  hands  with  Miss  Byrd, 
who  always  satisfied  the  proprieties  by  escorting  her  young 
friend,  before  following  his  impetuous  pupil  into  the  par- 
lor. Dorothea  was  scornfully  inspecting  the  remains  of  the 
meal. 

"  H'm !  One  sausage  —  I  know  it  can't  be  more,  for 
Rogers  never  gives  you  more  than  seven,  at  the  outside,  to 
the  pound  —  it's  not  half  enough  for  you.  This  room's 
hatefully  uncomfortable,  too,"  she  added,  frowning  round 
with  eyes  which  saw  it  all  anew.  Dorothea  was  blind  to 
beauty,  but  wide  awake  to  comfort,  especially  somebody 
else's  comfort.  "  I  should  like  to  talk  to  that  Simpson 
woman.  I'd  soon  make  her  sit  up!  I  think  she  neglects 


ALL  IN  THE  AIR  109 

you  shamefully.  You're  looking  quite  pale  —  isn't  he, 
Birdie?  —  and  I  know  it's  all  her  fault.  I've  no  use  at  all 
for  a  woman  who  can't  keep  her  own  people  comfy !  " 

It  was  a  novel  experience  for  Denis  to  be  scolded  for 
neglecting  himself.  "  I  assure  you  Miss  Simpson's  guilt- 
less," he  said,  smiling.  "  I've  had  a  bit  of  a  rush  lately, 
that's  all.  I've  not  been  able  to  get  out  these  last  few  days." 

"  Well,  you're  coming  out  with  me  this  afternoon,  or  I'll 
know  the  reason  why.  I  can't  have  you  looking  like  this," 
retorted  Dorothea,  nodding  her  decision;  and  then,  with  a 
sudden  beguiling  change,  clasping  both  hands  over  his  arm : 
"  You're  going  to  let  me  do  straights  on  my  own  to-day, 
aren't  you  ?  You  almost  promised  you  would,  last  time !  " 

Denis  looked  down  on  her  hands,  as  though  he  found 
them  a  very  pleasing  adornment  to  his  sleeve.  "We'll 
see,"  he  said,  and  from  that  he  would  not  budge,  for  all  her 
coaxing.  He  was  inordinately  cautious  in  his  tuition.  They 
left  Miss  Byrd  tucked  up  by  the  fire  with  a  book,  and  Denis 
went  down  to  the  hangars,  while  Dorothea  got  into  her  flying 
kit.  He  was  never  tired  of  dinning  into  his  pupil's  ears 
the  duty  of  prudence,  and  certainly  he  set  the  example  him- 
self. When  Dorothea  appeared  at  the  sheds,  in  her  tan 
leather  coat  and  leggings  and  safety  helmet,  she  found  her 
instructor  tuning  up  the  machine,  and  had  to  wait  as  pa- 
tiently as  she  might  till  he  had  done. 

The  morning  until  ten  o'clock  had  been  white  and  chill 
with  one  of  those  luminous,  snowy  September  fogs,  which 
clear  off  into  noons  of  sapphire.  The  sky  was  astoundingly 
blue,  the  meadow  insolently  green,  the  sheds  all  hard-edged, 
vivid,  with  keen  black  shadows.  In  the  full  blaze  of  sun- 
shine stood  the  monoplane,  tall  in  front  where  the  long  brown 
blades  of  the  propeller  cleared  the  ground,  sloping  down  to- 
wards the  fin-like  tail  planes,  and  spreading  its  pale  wings 
in  curves  not  unlike  those  of  the  gulls  which  sailed  by,  call- 
ing and  fishing  over  the  marshes. 

Dorothea  climbed  into  her  seat,  Denis  took  his  place  be- 
side her,  the  men  behind  let  go,  and  off  they  went,  skimming 
fast  and  faster  over  the  grass,  gaining  speed  and  power  for 


110  CONVICT  B14 

soaring.  The  elevator  tilted,  and  they  parted  from  the  earth, 
the  moment  imperceptible ;  only  the  country,  which  had  lain 
ahead,  spread  out  suddenly  below  them  like  a  carpet.  There 
were  the  green  marshes,  ruled  out  like  a  chess-board  with 
glistening  waterways,  and  bordered  with  the  dark  blue  sea : 
the  farm,  and  the  sheds,  and  the  outbuildings,  all  like  toys 
made  of  cardboard  and  glittering  tin. 

After  circling  over  the  aerodrome  to  get  his  height,  Denis 
turned  his  back  on  the  coast  and  flew  inland.  As  they 
passed,  the  great  farm  horses  plunged  and  fidgeted,  the  la- 
borers stood  still  in  the  fields,  peering  up  from  under  their 
hands,  the  cottagers  ran  out  into  the  road  to  watch  them 
overhead.  Some  said :  "  Well,  I  wouldn't  be  up  in  one 
of  them  things  for  a  thousand  pounds ! "  and  others : 
"Silly  fools!  serve  'em  right  if  they  break  their  necks!" 
The  Englishman,  in  fact,  received  the  novelty  as  he  receives 
any  strange  thing  or  person,  in  the  spirit  summed  once  and 
for  all  by  Punch.  Not  that  Denis  had  any  right  to  grumble. 
Except  with  regard  to  his  work,  he  was  just  as  conservative, 
just  as  ready  to  heave  his  half-brick  as  any  Bill  among  them. 

They  flew  to  Canterbury,  and  turned,  banking  in  a  steep 
curve,  to  shoot  back  over  the  way  they  had  come.  They 
were  five  thousand  feet  up,  and  the  wind  was  ferocious; 
it  seemed  to  press  the  breath  back  down  their  throats, 
to  wrench  at  the  flesh  on  their  faces.  Much  Dorothea 
cared!  On  that  homeward  flight  she  was  allowed,  for 
the  first  time,  to  guide  the  aeroplane  herself.  Denis  kept 
his  hands  ready  to  resume  control,  in  case  of  a  slip,  but 
he  was  not  needed;  she  held  the  pillar  till  the  time  came 
to  switch  off  the  engine  and  glide  in  a  long,  long  slant 
towards  the  landing  ground.  B-rr,  the  motor  purred  again, 
as  the  monoplane  cocked  up  her  tail,  like  a  bird,  to  "  flatten 
out "  before  alighting.  The  landing  wheels  took  off  the 
shock,  and  they  ran  smoothly  over  the  grass  till  the  momen- 
tum was  exhausted. 

Denis  stayed  at  the  hangars  to  see  the  machine  housed. 
When  he  came  back  to  the  house  he  found  his  pupil  waiting 
for  him  on  the  steps  of  the  porch.  She  had  taken  off  her 


ALL  IN  THE  AIR  111 

helmet  and  her  leather  coat,  and  wore  the  same  rough 
tweeds  in  which  she  had  wandered  about  the  woods  of  the 
Semois.  Her  skirt  was  short  enough  to  show  a  pair  of 
neat  brown  ankles,  as  well  as  the  brown  shoes  below  them, 
and  her  hair  hung  down  her  back  in  a  yard  and  a  quarter  of 
pigtail.  She  said  she  couldn't  coil  it  under  the  helmet.  Her 
eyes  were  sparkling,  and  her  cheeks  were  pink,  and  she 
propped  herself  against  the  white  pillar,  first  on  one  foot, 
then  on  the  other,  with  the  long-legged,  supple  awkwardness 
of  a  schoolgirl.  Strange  how  the  years  had  fallen  away, 
how  little  mark  had  been  left  by  her  marriage,  even  by 
motherhood ! 

"  I  did  it  all  right,  didn't  I  ? "  she  demanded,  naively 
eager.  "  I  didn't  make  any  bad  breaks  ?  " 

"  Not  a  break ! "  Denis  assured  her. 

"  Really  ?  Truly  ?  Will  you  let  me  do  a  figure  of  eight 
next  time  ?  I  know  I  could  !  " 

"  We'll  see  when  next  time  comes." 

Dorothea  looked  exceedingly  naughty,  like  Geraldine 
caught  stealing  the  cream  —  the  simile  was  Denis's  own. 
"  It's  coming  again  to-morrow ! "  she  announced  daringly. 

Denis  shook  his  head,  smiling  at  her.     "  No,  it's  not." 

"  Ah,  do  let  me !  I've  wasted  so  much  time  with  the 
weather,  and  then  this  hateful  hand,  and  I  do  so  want  to 
learn  —  I  can't  wait  till  Saturday !  " 

"  I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  such  ardor,  but  I'm  afraid  you 
must." 

"  Why  ?  You  know  it  may  change  any  day  now  into 
the  equinoctial  gales.  I  think  you  might  leave  your  old 
seaplane  for  once.  I've  never  asked  you  before.  Do! " 

Denis,  standing  below  her  on  the  path,  continued  to  smile 
provokingly  and  to  shake  his  head.  It  amused  him  to 
see  her  stamp  her  foot,  which  she  did  punctually,  with  a 
thunderous  frown. 

"  I  think  you're  most  unkind.  It's  not  your  duty,  it's  your 
pleasure  you're  thinking  of.  You  like  those  miserable  calcu- 
lations, and  that's  why  you  won't  come.  I  hate  the  sea- 
plane !  " 


US  CONVICT  BU 

"  There  might  be  some  point  in  your  strictures,"  said 
Denis,  teasing  her,  "if  I  happened  to  be  workin'  at  the 
seaplane  to-morrow." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  then,  if  not  that?  " 

"  I'm  dinin'  Wandesforde'  in  town." 

"  O-oh,"  said  Dorothea,  undecided  between  storm  and 
sunshine.  "Then  I  hate  Mr.  Wandesforde!"  she  con- 
cluded viciously. 

"  You  hate  so  many  things,  don't  you  ?  " 

Again  she  was  almost  ready  to  sulk  like  an  offended 
baby ;  but  no  —  out  shone  the  sun,  and  the  clouds  fled 
away.  "  Well,  I  do,"  she  owned,  laughing  back  at  him, 
"  of  course  I  do !  So  would  anybody  who  wasn't  a  perfect 
frog.  It's  only  cold-blooded  people  like  you  and  Lettice 
who  are  tolerant.  Besides,  I  love  heaps  of  things  to  make 
up.  I  hate  the  seaplane  and  I  hate  Mr.  Wandesforde,  but 
I  love  the  monoplane  and  I  love  you  — " 

It  would  have  been  nothing,  nothing,  if  she  had  not  pointed 
her  words  by  stopping  dead  and  turning  scarlet.  Denis, 
puzzled,  gazed  at  her  with  his  honest  eyes;  and  then,  like 
the  falling  of  a  curtain,  saw  what  her  confusion  meant, 
both  to  her  and  to  himself.  He  stepped  forward  impul- 
sively, putting  out  his  hands.  Dorothea  pressed  back  against 
the  pillar,  glancing  desperately  from  side  to  side ;  then, 
striking  them  away,  she  turned  and  darted  in  at  the  open 
door,  like  a  rabbit  into  its  burrow. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
ONE  NAIL  DRIVES  OUT  ANOTHER 

I  looked  and  saw  your  heart 

In  the  shadow  of  your  eyes, 
As  the  seeker  sees  the  gold 

In  the  shadow  of  the  stream. 

Three  Shadows. 

THERE  is  a  legend  which  says  that  September  is  the  month 
of  the  fading  leaf.  Townsmen  may  fancy  so,  looking  at 
their  own  starved  avenues,  which  begin  to  shrivel  and  strip 
themselves  as  early  as  July ;  but  in  the  country  the  massive 
woods  (except  that  an  elm  here  and  there  hangs  out  a  single 
crocus-yellow  spray)  keep  the  somber  green  of  late  summer 
to  the  very  end  of  the  month.  Then,  as  the  days  pass,  first 
the  lime  "  strips  to  the  cold  and  standeth  naked  above  her 
yellow  attire."  The  horse-chestnuts  on  some  night  of  frost 
let  drop  all  their  fans  in  a  rustling  heap.  The  woodland 
paths  are  crisp  with  fawn-colored  oak  leaves.  Last  of  all, 
in  mid-November,  the  elms  loosen  to  the  wind  and  the  rain 
those  faint  clouds  of  green  and  greenish-gold  which  have 
rounded  the  shape  of  their  limbs,  till  all  the  wet  meadows 
are  strewn  with  them ;  and  it  is  winter. 

At  Rochehaut  it  was  September  still,  late  September. 
Gardiner,  at  leisure  after  the  summer  rush,  had  been  to  his 
bank  at  Bouillon,  and,  instead  of  returning  by  the  vicinal, 
had  chosen  to  walk  back  over  the  hills  through  Botassart. 
This  route  brought  him  past  the  crucifix.  He  had  not  been 
there  since  the  grand  explosion,  and  it  cost  him  an  effort  to 
go  back ;  but  he  refused  to  be  sentimental,  or  allow  a 
beautiful  thing  to  be  spoiled  for  him  by  fancies.  There  he 
lay  then  on  the  grass,  smoking  and  dreaming. 

It  seemed  long,  long  since  that  summer  night;  so  long 
113 


114  CONVICT  B14 

that  he  could  look  back  now,  on  it  and  on  Dorothea,  as 
part  of  the  past.  Heavens !  how  she  had  hurt  him !  There 
was  that  time  as  a  boy,  when  he  tumbled  waist-deep  into  a 
vat  of  scalding  liquid  at  some  chemical  works;  he  could 
compare  his  feelings  only  to  that  violent  assault  of  pain. 
Yes,  she  had  hurt  him  abominably;  the  pain  of  his  crushed 
hand  had  been  by  contrast  a  relief  and  a  distraction.  But  the 
wound  was  on  the  surface ;  and,  though  he  scarcely  knew 
it  himself,  already  it  was  beginning  to  heal.  There  was  no 
poison  in  it.  His  passion  for  Dorothea  had  been  effectually 
cauterized ;  he  thought  of  her  now  without  either  resent- 
ment or  desire.  He  was  profoundly  sorry ;  sorrier  for  Dor- 
othea O'Connor  than  even  for  Mrs.  Trent.  This  pity,  oddly 
enough,  confirmed  him  in  impenitence.  "  I  did  her  a  good 
turn  when  I  cleared  that  fellow  out  of  her  road,"  he  said  to 
himself  with  inverted  satisfaction.  "  If  he'd  lived  long 
enough  for  her  to  find  him  out,  there'd  have  been  la  de  Dios 
esCristo!" 

Three  days  of  pale  still  sunshine  had  closed  in  threatening 
gloom.  The  grassy  hill  of  the  crucifix  was  burnt  putty- 
color;  the  hill  of  forests  opposite  was  olive-somber;  the 
valley  fumed  with  tawny  vapors,  breathing  down  from  the 
gloom  of  the  sky,  and  up  from  the  dark  current  of  the  river. 
All  was  still,  grave,  overcast,  till  the  sun  found  his  sunset 
crevice  in  the  clouds  and  split  them,  overflowing  in  long  lines 
of  liquid  gold  between  iron-heavy  bars.  Splendid  trans- 
parent fan-rays  of  light  and  dark  alternate  streamed  up  the 
sky;  they  rimmed  vague  forms  of  mist  with  burning  wire, 
they  filled  the  empty  blue  with  bronze  and  golden  vapors ; 
the  whole  vault  of  heaven  was  on  fire,  the  wet  brown  hills 
flamed  back  responsive  glory. 

Gardiner,  susceptible  to  every  earth  influence,  found  his 
senses  flooded  with  that  golden  exhilaration.  Vague  mists 
of  thought  took  shape  in  its  light;  he  knew  now  that  that 
name  on  the  lintel  of  the  farm  was  not  a  mere  coincidence. 
When  he  first  saw  the  Bellevue,  "  Why,  I've  been  here  be- 
fore," he  had  said  to  himself,  with  a  thrill  of  startled  rec- 
ognition. And  now,  "  I  belong  here,"  he  added,  half  aloud, 


ONE  NAIL  DRIVES  OUT  ANOTHER      115 

with  a  touch  of  solemnity,  as  though  the  spoken  word  must 
be  irrevocable.  Old  ties  were  dear;  but  he  knew  in  his 
heart,  his  body  knew,  that  the  wild  Semois  down  there  in 
the  valley  was  more  to  him  than  the  Darenth  of  his  boyhood. 
This  was  his  home. 

Bringing  his  dazzled  eyes  to  earth,  he  saw  that  a  figure 
had  detached  itself  from  the  orchards  of  the  Bellevue,  and 
was  slowly  mounting  the  hill.  One  person  only  would  climb 
like  that,  with  so  many  divagations  to  avoid  steep  places, 
and  so  many  halts  to  admire  the  view  —  or  could  it  be  to 
get  her  breath?  It  was  Lettice. 

Since  his  accident,  now  five  weeks  ago,  Gardiner  had 
seen  a  good  deal  of  Miss  Smith.  His  hand  had  been  un- 
expectedly troublesome ;  indeed  he  was  only  now  beginning 
to  use  it.  Meantime  he  had  made  use  of  Lettice  as  his 
amanuensis,  repaying  her  services  by  refusing  to  allow  her 
to  settle  her  bill.  "  No,  I  am  not  going  to  take  that  money," 
he  said,  energetically  nodding  towards  the  pile  of  notes  she 
had  deposited  on  his  table.  "  I'll  pitch  it  into  the  fire  if  you 
leave  it  there.  Also  I  shall  wire  to  town  for  a  regular  sec- 
retary. Pick  it  up  and  take  it  away."  Lettice  did  not  like 
it  in  the  very  least ;  but  very  slowly  and  very  stubbornly  she 
did  pick  the  money  up  and  return  it  to  her  purse.  Nor 
was  her  temper  soothed  when  Gardiner  looked  at  her  direct, 
with  a  glint  in  his  eye,  and  added,  "  I  know  you  wind  Denis 
round  your  little  finger,  but  I  am  not  Denis.  Two  can  play 
at  being  obstinate,  savez-vous  ?  "  Still,  she  continued  to  act 
as  his  secretary ;  until  by  the  end  of  the  month  she  knew 
his  methods  and  his  business  almost  as  well  as  he  did  him- 
self. 

It  was  after  this  episode  that  she  began  to  play  with  him, 
admitting  him  to  rank  as  an  intimate;  and  that  he  began 
to  discover  what  it  was  that  Denis  loved  in  those  velvet 
touches.  But  he  was  more  uncertain  than  Denis  —  he  was 
not  to  be  run  by  formula ;  he  would  turn  unexpectedly,  and 
parry,  and  strike  back.  Once  or  twice,  too,  especially  at 
first,  when  he  was  acting  the  urbane  and  cheerful  host,  he 
found  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  They  were  instantly  with- 


116  CONVICT  B14 

drawn ;  but  he  knew  she  knew  he  was  suffering,  and  oddly 
enough  he  did  not  resent  it.  Oddly,  be  it  understood,  be- 
cause Gardiner  was  by  no  means  fond  of  sympathy.  His 
instinct  when  hard  hit  was  to  cover  up  the  wound  and  keep 
it  hidden  from  the  world,  and  especially  from  his  friends. 
Yet  it  seemed  he  did  not  mind  Lettice.  And  now,  though 
he  saw  she  was  making  for  the  crucifix,  to  disturb  his  regal 
solitude,  he  did  not  stir. 

She  had  not  seen  him.  She  plodded  on  without  looking 
up,  and  presently  was  hidden  in  a  fold  of  the  hill.  When 
she  emerged  again,  it  was  within  ten  yards  of  the  crucifix 
and  that  lazy,  smiling  figure.  She  stopped  short ;  one  could 
almost  hear  her  spirit  say  "  Oh ! "  though  her  lips  were 
silent.  Her  first  impulse  obviously  was  to  beat  a  retreat 
(Gardiner  chuckled,  he  had  known  it  would  be!),  but  she 
thought  better  of  it,  and  came  on.  After  surveying  the 
heap  of  stones,  she  chose  the  one  comfortable  place,  set- 
tled herself,  and  got  out  the  inevitable  green  tablecloth.  Let- 
tice made  great  play  with  that  tablecloth. 

Since  she  would  not  speak,  Gardiner  did. 

"  I  didn't  know  you'd  found  your  way  up  here." 

"  Why,  you  told  me  about  it  yourself." 

"  Do  you  like  it  better  than  your  wood  pile  in  the  forest?  " 

Lettice  paused  in  the  act  of  threading  her  needle  to  look 
round  on  the  brown  and  gold  of  hills  and  woods  and  sky. 
"  Yes,"  said  she ;  and  if  she  had  raved  for  an  hour  she 
could  have  expressed  no  more.  Comfortable  silence  fell 
between  them.  Lettice  stitched,  and  Gardiner  smoked,  and 
in  the  west  the  sunset  flared  in  citron,  amber,  saffron,  bronze, 
and  a  thousand  shades  of  glory.  In  the  east  a  scroll  of  cloud 
reared  dazzling  sunny  heights  of  snow  against  dazzling  blue. 
Lettice's  needle  slackened ;  it  came  to  a  standstill. 

"  Penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Gardiner. 

"  I  haven't  any." 

"  I  thought  you  were  composing  a  poem." 

Insults  of  insults!  Lettice  looked  volumes  of  reproach. 
"  I  was  not,"  said  she. 

"  But  you  do  write  poetry." 


ONE  NAIL  DRIVES  OUT  ANOTHER      117 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  Who  do  you  suppose  ?  Denis  has  told  me  quite  a  lot 
about  you.  Hasn't  he  told  you  a  lot  about  me  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  it  wasn't  all  of  it  true." 

Gardiner  burst  out  laughing.  "  Well,  that  is  good !  How 
do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's,  it's  —  it's  obvious,"  said  Lettice,  with  an  ex- 
asperated wave  of  the  hand  to  help  out  her  meaning.  She 
began  to  sew  very  fast.  Gardiner  contemplated  her  with  a 
broad  smile ;  but  presently  it  faded,  and  he  turned  over  and 
lay  plucking  at  the  grass. 

"  Did  Miss  O'Connor  leave  her  address  with  you?" 

Lettice  shook  her  head. 

"  She  went  off  in  such  a  hurry !  " 

Gardiner  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  and  checked  him- 
self for  a  garrulous  fool.  He  did  not  know  why  he  had 
mentioned  Dorothea  at  all.  A  moment  later  the  impulse 
came  again,  and  he  found  himself,  to  his  surprise,  telling 
Lettice  the  very  thing  he  had  decided  not  to  mention. 
"  Rather  a  queer  thing  about  that  young  lady,"  he  remarked 
lightly.  "  I  found  out  —  to  be  exact,  she  hurled  the  fact 
in  my  teeth  —  that  she  wasn't  a  Miss,  and  that  O'Connor 
wasn't  her  name.  She  was  a  widow  —  a  Mrs.  Trent." 

"  Mrs.  Trent?    What,  the,  the—" 

"  Oh,  you  know  about  her,  do  you?  Yes,  the  Mrs.  Trent 
of  Easedale.  She's  firmly  persuaded  that  I  killed  her  hus- 
band. I  believe  she  came  over  here  simply  and  solely  in 
order  to  worm  some  sort  of  confession  out  of  me." 

He  stopped,  amazed  at  himself.  Then  he  looked  at  Let- 
tice. If  deep  unaffected  interest  can  pull  confidences  out  of 
a  man,  here  was  his  excuse.  WTiy,  she  was  all  eyes  and 
ears! 

"  So  that  was  it !  "  she  said.    "  That  was  who  she  was !  " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  knew  about  this  before  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  not  her  name.  But  I  knew  she  didn't  much 
like  you." 

"  The  dickens  you  did !    Did  she  say  so?  " 

"  No,  I,  I  —  I  sort  of  gathered  it." 


118  CONVICT  B14. 

"  I  begin  to  think  what  Denis  said  about  you  was  true," 
Gardiner  remarked  after  a  pause. 

"  What  did  Denis  say  about  me  ?  " 

"  That  you  could  see  through  a  flight  of  stairs  and  a  deal 
door." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  You  wouldn't,  it's  out  of  Dickens,"  said  Gardiner,  with 
a  laugh  which  hid  considerable  perturbation.  So  she  had 
guessed  that,  had  she,  before  he  knew  it  himself?  What 
was  there  she  did  not  guess?  He  began  to  feel  helplessly 
transparent.  Yet  again  he  was  surprised  to  find  he  did  not 
hate  her  for  intruding.  Lettice  could  pick  her  way  among 
sensibilities  like  a  cat  among  china,  and  she  neither  misun- 
derstood nor  misjudged.  There  were  episodes  in  his  life 
which  he  would  have  been  ashamed  to  show  to  Denis.  He 
could  have  shown  them  every  one  to  Lettice,  unmarried 
girl  though  she  was,  and  with  no  experience  of  the  rough 
and  tumble  of  life.  Somehow  one  never  thought  of  Lettice 
as  a  girl.  He  looked  up  at  her.  She  had  dropped  her  work 
and  sat  motionless,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  sunset.  In  nature 
as  in. human  nature,  Lettice  looked  to  the  limit  of  sight,  and 
beyond,  to  the  city  of  God.  It  was  that  distant  view  which 
gave  her  the  perspective  for  things  near.  While  Gardiner 
was  making  these  reflections,  she  turned  her  head  suddenly 
and  surprised  him  with  a  question : 

"Does  Denis  know  about  Mrs.  Trent?" 

"  I  should  say  not.     I  haven't  told  him." 

"  I  think  you'd  better." 

It  was  so  unlike  Lettice  to  offer  advice  that  he  stared  in 
surprise. 

"Why?" 

"  He  ought  to  know." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  into  that  business  again,"  said 
Gardiner.  "  He  did  hate  it  all  so  desperately  —  no,  I  don't 
want  to  rake  it  up  again.  Nor  do  I  see  any  necessity. 
What  does  it  matter?" 

"  Would  you  mind  if  I  told  him?  " 

"  Why  the  dickens  are  you  so  keen?  " 


ONE  NAIL  DRIVES  OUT  ANOTHER       119 

She  hesitated.  She  found  it  chronically  hard  to  put  her 
thoughts  into  speech,  and  in  this  case  there  were  reserva- 
tions to  be  made.  Gardiner  took  the  words  out  of  her 
mouth. 

"  You  don't  mean  you  think  she'd  go  for  him  too?  " 

Lettice  nodded.  "  She  meant  to  get  a  confession  out  of 
one  or  the  other  of  you." 

"  Oh,  my  Lord ! "  said  Gardiner,  and  caught  himself  up. 
"But  if  there's  nothing  to  confess?" 

A  flash  went  over  Lettice's  face.  Was  it  conceivable 
that  she  had  guessed  even  that  last  thing?  No,  it  wasn't, 
Gardiner  decided  hastily,  that  was  beyond  her,  she  couldn't 
possibly  know.  For  an  instant  he  thought  of  telling  her  him- 
self, but  caution,  habit,  above  all  self-derision  held  him  back. 
He  blurt  out  that  damaging  truth  to  a  chance  acquaintance? 
He  wasn't  such  a  fool !  —  All  this  passed  through  his  mind 
in  the  instant  between  his  question  and  her  reply. 

"  Well,  she  didn't  give  you  much  of  a  time  while  she  was 
trying  to  find  out,  did  she  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  —  oh,  she  couldn't  try  that  game  on  again,  it 
would  be  too  beastly  low  down,  with  a  man  like  Denis !  Be- 
sides, he  isn't  taking  any,  he  simply  hates  women.  .  .  .  Look 
here,  tell  me  exactly  what  you  know,  do  you  mind  ?  What 
makes  you  so  certain  she  meant  to  go  for  him  ?  " 

Lettice  drew  a  long  breath.  Her  explanation,  when  it 
came,  ran  clear  and  straight.  Indeed,  her  thought  was  al- 
ways lucid ;  it  was  the  words  that  failed. 

"  It  was  that  last  day  before  she  went.  She  began  by 
telling  me  about  herself  and  how  unhappy  she  had  been; 
and  then  she  let  out  that  there  was  some  man  she  hated; 
and  then  she  began  asking  questions  about  you  and  Denis, 
coupling  you  together,  do  you  see  ?  —  but  so  that  you  couldn't 
help  guessing  it  was  you  she'd  been  talking  about.  One 
thing  she  asked  was  whether  Denis  would  tell  a  lie  to  save 
a  friend.  And  then  Denis  himself  came  up,  and  they  talked 
flying ;  and  she  said  she  should  go  to  Bredon  some  day  and 
see  the  aeroplanes." 

"  You  think  she  really  meant  business  ?  " 


120  CONVICT  BU 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Pleasant,"  said  Gardiner,  tugging  at  his  mustache,  with 
a  sort  of  hard  restraint.  "If  she  exploits  Denis  as  she  did 
me,  he'll  enjoy  himself.  Yes,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged 
if  you'll  write  to  him.  He'll  take  it  better  from  you  than 
from  me." 

"  I  wish  I'd  known  before,"  said  Lettice,  folding  up  her 
work. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right  so  far,  she  hasn't  turned  up  at  Bredon 
yet.  I  heard  from  Denis  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  but  don't  you  see  if  she  did  go  she'd  be  sure  to 
tell  him  not  to  tell  you  ?  " 

He  did  see,  and  felt  sick.  It  cost  him  an  effort  to  lie 
still.  But  he  pulled  himself  together;  that  last  secret,  at 
least,  she  should  not  read.  What  to  say,  then?  He  would 
not  confess,  but  equally  he  would  not  lie  to  her.  He  found 
something  which  was  neither  lie,  confession,  nor  equivoca- 
tion, but  a  piece  of  plain  fact. 

"If  she  ever  does  get  hold  of  the  truth  about  Trent,  she'll 
be  uncommonly  sorry  she  tried  to  find  out." 

Then  he  discovered  that  Lettice  was  neither  looking  at 
nor  thinking  of  him. 

"  I  hope  she  won't  get  it  out  of  Denis,"  she  said.  "  I  hope 
you'll  be  in  time  to  prevent  that." 

The  words  were  mild ;  the  spirit,  not  so.  Gardiner  was 
shamed  out  of  his  self-absorption.  He  saw  Lettice's  love 
for  her  cousin,  roused  in  his  defense ;  and  he  saw,  too,  with 
her,  Denis  tricked  into  betraying  his  friend.  Why,  he  would 
never  forgive  himself ! 

"  My  Lord,  yes ! "  he  said  with  unexpected  gravity. 
"  That  would  be  a  worse  business  than  anything  she's  done 
or  could  do  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
A  TWO-EDGED  SWORD 

He  looked  at  her,  as  a  lover  can; 

She  looked  at  him,  as  one  who  awakes. 

The  Statue  and  the  Bust. 

There  is  a  way  that  seemeth  right  unto  a  man,  but  the  end  thereof 
are  the  ways  of  death. —  PROVERBS. 

IN  his  salad  days,  a  long  time  ago,  Denis  had  fallen  in  love 
with  the  daughter  of  a  respectable  suburban  fishmonger, 
after  tumbling  out  of  the  sky  on  the  roof  of  her  house.  The 
young  lady's  parents  were  rich  but  honest;  the  young  lady 
herself  —  well,  she  had  an  extremely  pretty  face,  which  oc- 
cupied Denis  to  the  exclusion  of  a  blue  and  yellow  sports 
coat  and  a  large  string  of  pearls.  His  love  dream  lasted 
six  weeks ;  then  he  fell  out  of  his  aeroplane  again  and  broke 
his  handsome  nose,  or  was  supposed  to  have  done  so,  and 
Miss  Tyrrell  broke  the  engagement.  "  I  c-couldn't  bear 
you  with  a  broken  nose !  "  she  wept.  Whatever  Denis  broke, 
it  was  not  his  heart.  When  he  looked  back  on  the  episode, 
it  was  with  devout  and  wondering  thankfulness ;  but  he  pre- 
ferred not  to  look  back  on  it  at  all. 

This  was  his  sole  experience  of  the  tender  passion.  In 
his  single-minded  and  laborious  life  there  had  been  no  room 
for  more ;  even  Nina  Tyrrell  had  been  sandwiched  between 
two  flying  accidents.  Denis  was  at  bottom  a  simple  soul. 
He  had  three  main  interests  —  his  religion,  his  aeroplanes,  his 
friends ;  and  they  were  all  bound  up  together  by  a  child-like 
faith.  He  believed  in  others  because  his  own  heart  was 
pure.  It  was  this  bloom  of  innocence  which  Gardiner  loved 
in  his  friend,  and  which  both  he  and  Lettice  were  tender  to 
protect ;  and  it  was  this  which  made  his  feeling  for  Dorothea 
at  once  so  beautiful,  and  so  vulnerable. 
121 


m  CONVICT  B14 

He  took  the  revelation  very  simply,  very  seriously,  with 
reverence  and  awe;  among  other  primitive  virtues,  Denis 
had  a  fine  stock  of  awe.  Love  was  to  him  a  sacrament,  a 
gift  direct  from  heaven;  he  carried  it  in  his  heart  like  a 
jewel  almost  too  precious  for  human  hands  to  touch,  and 
gave  humble  thanks  to  God.  A  good  old-fashioned  church- 
man, Denis  had  been  accustomed  to  "  say  his  prayers  "  night 
and  morning,  walking  in  a  decent  English  soul-silence  the 
rest  of  the  day ;  but  this  new  gratitude  transcended  all  rules 
and  overflowed  in  ceaseless  praise.  Nobody,  he  was  certain, 
had  ever  felt  like  this  before.  He  was  happy  —  happier  than 
it  had  ever  entered  his  head  to  imagine,  in  sunshine  which 
turned  all  the  gray  of  life  to  gold. 

All  that  day  he  could  settle  to  nothing,  but  mooned  about 
the  house,  getting  in  the  way  of  Miss  Simpson,  who  had 
planned  to  turn  out  his  room.  Next  day,  in  town,  he  looked 
at  Wandesforde  the  married  man  with  new  curiosity.  He 
did  not  in  the  least  want  to  unbosom  himself ;  but  he  would 
have  liked  to  extract  confidences  from  somebody  who  had 
been  through  it  all  before.  Wandesforde,  however,  was  not 
given  to  making  confidences,  and  if  ever  he  had  been  driven 
into  speech  his  partner  was  the  last  man  he  would  have 
chosen  to  receive  his  outpourings.  He  put  down  Denis's 
unusual  silence  to  his  liver,  and  genially  advised  him  to  take 
more  exercise  —  that  venerable  joke,  which  always  seems  so 
good  to  the  maker  and  so  poor  to  the  recipient ! 

That  night  Denis  lay  awake,  building  castles  in  the  air. 
Dorothea  had  told  him  all  her  sad  little  story  as  far  as  her 
marriage,  one  squally  day  when  they  were  sheltering  in  the 
hangar ;  he  set  up  in  his  heart  a  shrine  of  protective  love  and 
reverence  and  worshiped  her  there,  his  little  lady  of  the 
sorrows  —  Dorothea,  with  a  heart  full  of  black  hate !  Yet 
Denis  was  not  blind.  He  saw  one  side  of  her  clearly  enough, 
and  was  ready  to  own  with  tender  indulgence  that  she  had 
plenty  of  endearing  imperfections,  of  small  gray  faults ;  but 
of  the  other  side,  the  dark  half  of  the  moon,  she  had  shown 
him  nothing,  and  how  was  he  to  divine  it?  With  him,  in- 
deed, she  was  what  he  believed  her :  true  to  her  true  self, 


A  TWO-EDGED  SWORD  123 

since  but  for  her  starved  girlhood  Dorothea  would  never 
have  learned  to  hate.  He  scarcely  dared  hope  she  loved  him 
yet,  though  he  had  a  shy  confidence  that  he  would  win  her 
in  the  end ;  but  he  meant  to  ask  her  at  once,  that  very  day 
when  she  came  for  her  lesson.  He  was  up  and  out  at  six 
o'clock,  among  pearly  mists,  and  saw  the  sun  rise  in  rose  and 
gold  over  meadows  spread  with  the  thin  silver  of  the 
frost.  Then  he  came  in  to  breakfast,  took  up  his  letters,  and 
met  his  first  check.  There  was  a  note  from  Miss  Byrd  to 
say  they  could  not  come. 

She  wrote  for  Dorothea,  whose  hand  was  troubling  her 
again ;  perhaps  she  had  strained  it  yesterday ;  at  any  rate, 
she  thought  best  not  to  use  it  at  present.  But  would  Mr. 
Merion-Smith  come  to  tea  with  them  to-morrow  after  church 
instead  ?  She  hoped  this  would  be  convenient  and  that  they 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  his  company,  and  she  was  his 
very  sincerely,  Mary  Anne  Byrd.  Denis's  face,  which  had 
darkened,  cleared  again;  after  all,  it  was  not  such  a  bad 
thing.  Better  say  what  he  had  to  say  in  a  drawing-room 
than  shout  it  through  the  hum  of  a  propeller. 

He  went  to  afternoon  church,  and  listened  to  the  Evan- 
gelical vicar's  sermon  on  Christian  evidences,  which  he 
seemed  to  rest  mainly  on  the  fact  that  there  have  been  mar- 
tyrs for  the  faith  (a  proposition  over  which  Denis  knit  his 
brows,  though  he  could  not  imagine  that  the  congregation 
then  present  was  liable  to  have  its  faith  upset  by  faulty 
logic)  ;  and  when  the  choir  of  little  girls  recited  the  General 
Thanksgiving,  he  recited  it  with  them,  in  great  seriousness 
and  devotion.  Coming  out  into  the  sunny  white  road,  with 
the  ink-blue  sea  on  one  hand,  the  grayish  cliff  grass  on  the 
other,  he  walked  down  to  Dorothea's  bungalow  —  the  one 
bungalow  of  Bredon,  which  he  already  knew  sufficiently  well, 
having  lived  there  for  several  years  himself.  The  car  was  at 
the  door;  he  paused  to  look  over  it  before  he  rang  the  bell. 

Miss  Byrd  received  him  in  the  drawing-room,  and  for 
the  first  half-hour  entertained  him  alone;  a  tall,  slim  woman 
with  a  complexion  of  wrinkled  ivory,  gentle  and  dignified 
and  intelligent.  As  a  teacher  she  had  been  subject  to  storms 


124.  CONVICT  B14 

of  nervous  anger,  for  which  she  was  not  too  proud  to  apolo- 
gize, even  to  a  pupil ;  it  was  an  incident  of  this  sort  which 
had  stamped  her  indelibly  in  Dorothea's  affections.  Always 
a  little  shy  of  Denis,  to-day  she  seemed  in  a  state  of  nervous 
tremor;  her  hands  were  shaking  as  she  arranged  and  rear- 
ranged the  cozy,  and  wondered  for  the  tenth  time  what  could 
be  keeping  Dot.  Denis,  who  had  one  manner  for  the  mighty 
and  another  for  the  humble  and  meek,  set  himself  to  soothe 
her  alarms.  He  was  just  succeeding  when  the  door  un- 
closed and  the  truant  swept  in. 

"  Am  I  very  frightfully  late?  "  she  inquired  unconcernedly. 
"  So  sorry ;  having  only  one  hand  makes  you  awkward,  you 
know.  Do  you  mind  doing  this  for  me,  Birdie?  " 

She  stood  bending  her  graceful  head  while  Miss  Byrd 
settled  the  rose  point  of  her  collar.  She  was  wearing  a 
velvet  dress,  very  rich,  very  sumptuous,  cut  open  at  the  throat 
and  bordered  with  sable  fur.  Round  her  neck  went  a  gold 
chain,  rough  links  nearly  an  inch  across,  hanging  to  her 
knees  and  looking  barbarously  heavy.  She  sank  into  a 
chair,  and  there  was  the  gleam  of  a  golden  shoe,  a  Cinderella 
slipper  with  jeweled  straps  crossing  on  the  arch  of  a  silken 
instep.  What  a  transformation!  But  the  greater  change 
was  in  her  manner. 

"  Have  you  been  to  church?  "  she  asked.  "  How  pious  of 
you !  I  haven't ;  but  then  I'm  not  pious,  you  know.  I  went 
for  a  joy-ride  instead.  My  hand?  Oh  yes,  thanks,  I  man- 
aged all  right.  I  generally  do  manage  to  do  what  I  want 
to,"  she  added,  spreading  out  a  slender  hand  with  the  dia- 
monds upon  it  which  Lettice  had  admired  long  ago.  She 
looked  up  at  Denis  through  her  lashes.  "  No,  I  didn't  want 
to  come  yesterday ;  not  particularly ;  wasn't  that  sad  ?  But 
I  did  want  you  to  come  here  this  afternoon  — " 

"  That's  all  right,  since  here  I  am,"  Denis  interrupted, 
laughing  at  her.  He  put  her  off  for  an  instant,  but  only  for 
an  instant;  she  recovered  herself,  and  swept  on: 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  why:  because  I  wanted  a  real  heart-to- 
heart  talk,  without  any  aeroplanes  or  things  to  interrupt. 
I've  a  bone  to  pick  with  you." 


A  TWO-EDGED  SWORD  125 

"  A  bone  to  pick,  have  you  ?  " 

"  A  big,  big  bone.  Another  lump  of  sugar,  please,  Birdie 
—  yes,  that  little  fella  will  do;  I  shan't  let  you  make  tea  if 
you  don't  give  me  enough  sugar.  Why  didn't  you  ever  tell 
us  that  exciting  story  about  Mr.  Gardiner?" 

She  leaned  back  among  her  cushions,  stirring  her  cup, 
watching  Denis  with  those  dark  eyes  full  of  overt  insolence 
and  covert  eagerness.  But  Denis  was  not  noticing  subtle- 
ties of  expression ;  this  time  she  had  got  home. 

"What  excitin'  story  about  Mr.  Gardiner?" 

It  was  her  turn  to  laugh.  "  Oh,  you  know !  About  that 
man  he  killed,  or  didn't  kill,  up  in  the  Lakes  somewhere.  I 
really  think  it  was  your  duty  to  have  told  —  anybody 
mightn't  have  cared  to  stop  at  his  hotel  after  a  thing  like 
that !  " 

"  Who  told  you  anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  Louisa,  of  course.  Louisa's  always  my  newsmonger. 
She  had  it  from  the  maid  of  the  man's  wife  —  Mrs.  Tyne, 
wasn't  her  name?  No,  Trent.  I  knew  it  was  some  river 
or  other.  Maids  tell  each  other  everything.  It  only  came 
out  yesterday,  else  I'd  have  been  at  you  about  it  before. 
Louisa  swears  Mr.  Gardiner  really  did  it,  and  you  screened 
him.  Did  he  ?  and  did  you  ?  Do  tell !  It  isn't  every  day 
one  comes  across  a  thrilling  tale  like  this ! " 

"  There  was  an  inquest,"  said  Denis  stiffly.  "  You  can 
read  all  about  it  in  the  papers,  if  you  choose.  It  was  brought 
in  accidental  death." 

"  Well,  I  know  that,  or  Mr.  Gardiner  would  have  gone 
to  prison,  wouldn't  he?  But  what  Louisa  says  is  that  the 
whole  truth  didn't  come  out  at  the  inquest.  He  knocked 
the  man  down,  or  something,  instead  of  his  tumbling  of 
himself.  I  can  quite  believe  he  would  knock  a  man  down, 
if  he  lost  his  temper.  Did  he  really  do  it,  and  make  you 
hush  it  up  ?  I  do  so  want  to  know !  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Byrd  gently,  "  don't  you  see  you're 
worrying  Mr.  Merion-Smith !  " 

"Am  I?"  said  Dorothea.  She  shot  a  cool,  leisurely, 
searching  glance  at  Denis's  troubled  face.  "  Well,  I'm  sure 


126  CONVICT  B14, 

I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  worry  anybody  in  what  I've  been 
saying  —  unless,  of  course,  it's  true!  " 

Denis  had  to  say  something.  He  felt  for  and  found  his 
voice,  hoping  it  sounded  more  natural  to  her  than  it  did  to 
himself.  "  It  was  —  rather  a  bad  business,"  he  got  out. 
"I  —  don't  much  care  for  talkin'  about  it.  I  don't  think 
Miss  O'Connor  quite  realizes  what  it  meant  for  us  —  we  saw 
it,  you  know  ;  and  Mrs.  Trent  too  — "  He  stuck  fast.  Was 
that  the  best  he  could  do  for  his  friend?  The  old  ex- 
cuse rose  to  his  lips.  "  But  I  can  assure  you  it  was  an 
accident !  " 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course  I'm  sorry  if  I  said  what  I  oughtn't. 
I  only  meant  it  for  a  joke !  "  said  Dorothea  conventionally. 

Denis  turned  away  to  the  window.  What  evil  fiend  had 
prompted  her  to  dig  up  that  story  ?  It  was  none  the  sweeter 
for  its  long  burial.  On  Dorothea's  lips  it  made  him  feel 
sick.  He  had  a  passing  pain  and  wonder  at  her  tone,  so 
discordant,  so  unlike  herself.  But  that  was  due  to  shyness, 
he  told  himself,  the  struggles  of  a  wild  thing  to  escape  cap- 
ture, and  putting  the  thought  by  he  went  on  steadily  to  his 
purpose.  It  was  not  easy  to  turn  Denis  when  his  mind  was 
made  up.  He  spoke  the  sentence  he  had  prepared  before 
entering  the  house. 

"  Have  you  seen  your  back  tire?  " 

"  My  tire  ?    No !     Is  it  down  ?  " 

Out  she  ran  —  as  he  had  guessed  she  would ;  but  it  was 
at  any  cost  to  get  away  from  him,  not  for  the  car's  sake  — 
and  that  he  did  not  guess.  He  followed  her.  Dorothea, 
pretending  to  examine  her  tires,  looked  up  and  knew  herself 
caught. 

"  Why,  they're  all  right,"  she  said,  rising  from  the  last 
of  the  wheels.  "  Did  you  think  I  had  a  puncture  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  never  said  I  did.  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you," 
said  Denis  coolly. 

She  faced  him  across  the  car,  as  cool  as  he.  "  Better 
not." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  I  want  to  know  if  you 
will  do  me  the  very  great  honor  of  becoming  my  wife." 


A  TWO-EDGED  SWORD  127 

How  quietly  he  said  it,  looking  at  her  with  his  steady  eyes ! 
Dorothea  shook  her  head.  "  Never." 

"  Ah,  but  I'm  not  askin'  for  an  answer  at  once." 

"  Never.  Never.  Never,"  she  repeated  with  rising  em- 
phasis. "  I  never  will  —  and  you  wouldn't  ask  it  if  you 
knew !  " 

"  You're  not  engaged  already?  " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  she  cried,  with  a  laugh  that  set  his  teeth  on 
edge.  She  turned  towards  the  door.  Denis  instinctively 
put  out  a  hand  to  detain  her.  She  flashed  round,  quick  and 
dangerous  as  a  cat. 

"  Don't  touch  me,  don't  stop  me  —  you'll  be  sorry  for  it  if 
you  do !  " 

Denis  was  in  far  too  great  pain  and  confusion  to  obey, 
or  even  to  take  in  what  she  said.  "  You  weren't  like  this 
yesterday !  "  he  said,  pleading. 

"  I  always  was.  Always.  I  had  my  reasons  for  pretend- 
ing to  tolerate  you  for  a  time,  but  I  always  felt  the  same," 

"  You  said  you  loved  me !  " 

"  It  wasn't  true,  it  wasn't  true.     I  hate  you." 

"But  why?     What  have  I  done?" 

"  Told  lies,  and  screened  a  murderer." 

"What?" 

"  It's  your  own  fault,  you  would  have  it,"  said  Dorothea, 
trembling  with  passion.  "  I  told  you  not  to  stop  me,  and 
you  would.  Saying  it  was  an  accident  —  that  old  story !  I 
was  sure  enough  before,  I  know  for  certain  now." 

Denis's  hand  went  up  to  his  head.  "  What  are  you  talking 
about  ? " 

"  About  Major  Trent,  whom  Mr.  Gardiner  killed.  He  did 
kill  him.  He  knocked  him  down  with  a  chisel,  and  he  died. 
Didn't  he?  Didn't  he?  You  know  you  can't  deny  it !  " 

He  could  not,  nor  could  he  meet  her  eyes,  so  he  missed 
their  expression.  Certain  things  are  so  cruelly  hard  that 
they  must  be  carried  through  at  a  rush,  or  not  at  all.  Dor- 
othea's vengeance  had  turned  into  a  two-edged  sword  in 
her  hands,  and  she  hewed  with  it  recklessly  because  it  was 
cut'.ing  her  to  the  bone. 


128  CONVICT  BU 

"  Why,  it's  not  a  year  yet  since  he  died,  and  do  you 
think  I'd  let  myself  love  a  man  who  —  who  almost  helped  to 
kill  him?  "  she  cried  with  anguish.  "  Oh,  I  hate,  hate,  hate 
you,  and  I  always  will.  Oh,  Guy,  Guy,  do  they  think  I'd 
forget  so  soon,  and  be  friends  with  your  murderers?  I'd 
kill  myself  sooner!" 

Sobbing  vehemently,  she  fled  into  the  house. 

When  Denis  got  home,  he  found  a  belated  letter  from 
Lettice,  which  should  have  been  delivered  that  morning,  but 
had  been  carried  on  by  mistake  to  the  next  farm.  It  had 
come,  said  Miss  Simpson,  just  after  he  started ;  the  boy 
must  actually  have  passed  him  in  the  drive. 


CHAPTER  XV 
WANTED 

We  took  no  tearful  leaving, 
Twas  time  and  time  to  go; 
Behind  lay  dock  and  Dartmoor, 
Ahead  lay  Callao ! 

The  Broken  Men. 

THE  hamlet  of  Woodlands  is  near  Wrotham,  in  the  county 
of  Kent.  To  reach  it  you  must  take  the  old  Chatham  and 
Dover  at  Victoria  and  get  out  at  Otford,  a  sweet-scented 
village  sitting  at  ease  in  the  wide  vale  of  the  Darenth.  Leav- 
ing that  behind,  you  will  turn  eastwards  by  the  Pilgrims' 
Way,  which  winds  along  the  lower  spurs  of  the  Downs,  above 
Kemsing,  Ightham,  St.  Clere,  on  its  way  to  Canterbury. 
That  too  you  leave  in  half-a-mile,  and  strike  into  the  hills 
on  your  left,  up  a  perpendicular  lane  where  the  contour  lines 
on  the  ordnance  map  jostle  each  other,  four,  five,  six,  seven 
hundred  feet  in  the  width  of  as  many  yards,  the  woods  climb- 
ing with  you,  arching  your  road  in  a  green  tunnel.  They 
thin,  they  dispart,  and  you  are  on  the  summit  of  the  Downs ; 
great  rolling  fluted  hills  covered  with  thymy  turf,  knots  of 
gorse,  noble  trees  standing  singly  with  a  scattering  of  bracken 
in  their  shade,  innumerable  rabbits  tossing  up  their  little 
white  scuts  as  they  bolt  into  their  burrows.  Very  steep  and 
graceful  in  their  lines,  these  Kentish  hills;  very  beautiful  the 
green  floor  of  the  valley  outspread  below,  the  wooded  height 
of  River  Hill,  the  hare-bell  blue  of  distant  chains,  rising  half 
transparent  against  the  sky. 

On  you  go,  turning  your  back  on  all  this,  over  the  ridge, 

into  the  heart  of  the  Downs.     Your  lane  twists,  dropping 

into  nameless  green  dells,  rising  over  nameless  green  knolls, 

between  woods  that  slope  a  dozen  ways  at  once,  and  hedge- 

129 


130  CONVICT  B14 

rows  which  "  the  primroses  run  down  to,  carrying  gold  " — 
even  in  October.  Next  you  pass  a  farm,  with  its  warm- 
scented  yellow  ricks,  its  black  barns,  mossy-thatched,  its  gar- 
den full  of  milk-white  phlox,  magenta  chrysanthemums, 
black  and  yellow  sun-flowers,  tan  and  purple  snapdragons. 
You  wheel  round  a  corner,  you  descend  another  break-neck 
lane  all  grass  and  flints,  and  here  in  a  green  nest  among  the 
hills,  which  rise  steep  all  round,  here  you  will  find  your 
journey's  end  —  the  hamlet  of  Woodlands.  Half-a-dozen 
old  cottages,  a  minute  school-house,  a  minute  church,  and  the 
vicarage. 

Gardiner's  birthplace  was  a  square  white  house  with  a 
red  roof,  green  jalousies,  and  bay  windows  on  either  side 
of  a  pillared  porch.  In  front,  a  square  of  lawn  was  guarded 
from  the  road  by  a  laurel  hedge,  and  bisected  by  a  gravel 
walk  leading  to  the  door.  Picture  the  place  in  October. 
Those  white  walls  are  hidden,  partly  by  Gloire  de  Dijon 
roses,  still  thick  with  yellow  buds  and  creamy  blossoms, 
for  it  is  warm  in  this  nest  among  the  hills ;  and  partly  by 
creepers,  cardinal,  carmine,  red-rose,  fringing  out  in  trails 
of  daffodil  green.  The  borders  are  full  of  flowers,  roses 
and  chrysanthemums  blooming  together,  yellow  and  brown 
nasturtiums  among  their  thin  round  emerald  leaves,  Mi- 
chaelmas daisies,  a  bank  of  lilac  against  the  laurels.  The 
woods  are  full-leaved  still  and  autumn-glorious;  there  is 
russet  of  oaks,  orange  of  hawthorns,  lemon-yellow  of  ma- 
ples, and  here  and  there,  like  black-cowled  monks  at  a 
pageant,  the  scattered  yews  which  always  haunt  the  line  of 
the  Pilgrims'  Way.  Woods,  woods,  and  woods  all  round, 
rising  like  a  golden  cup,  save  only  to  the  north.  Here  a 
valley  opens,  and  the  unfenced,  unmetalled  road  winds  away, 
between  hills  of  thin  grayish-green  turf,  white-scarred  with 
chalk  and  dotted  with  sheep,  towards  Maplescombe,  Farn- 
ingham,  and  civilization,  represented  by  the  unpleasant  town 
of  Dartford. 

Two  young  men  were  pacing  the  vicarage  lawn.  One  was 
slight,  short,  dark,  un-English :  Harry  Gardiner.  The  other 
was  tall,  broad-shouldered,  serious,  ultra-correct :  his  brother 


WANTED  131 

Tom,  of  the  Royal  Engineers.  Tom,  though  three  years  the 
younger,  was  in  the  case  of  the  elder  brother  of  the  parable, 
who  really  had  his  grievance.  He  had  always  been  an  ex- 
emplary son,  steady,  dutiful,  even  clever;  yet  Mr.  Gardiner 
freely  proclaimed  his  preference  for  the  vagabond  and  run- 
away. Moreover,  though  he  had  worked  hard  all  his  life, 
Tom  made  barely  enough  by  his  profession  to  keep  himself. 
Harry,  the  rolling  stone,  had  but  to  open  his  hand  for  the 
gifts  of  Fortune  to  tumble  into  it,  and  was  able  to  make  his 
father  a  comfortable  allowance.  He  was  lucky ;  Tom  was 
not.  Tom  felt  sometimes  a  little  sore ;  but  he  acknowledged 
ruefully  that  it  was  nobody's  fault,  and  couldn't  be  helped. 
There  was  a  child-like  vigor  and  directness  about  Mr.  Gard- 
iner's feelings  which  made  them  wholly  insuppressible,  and 
though  he  was  often  egregiously  unfair,  neither  of  his  sons 
dreamed  of  resenting  it. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  wired  for  me,  false  alarm  or  no.  I'd 
ten  times  rather  you  sometimes  brought  me  over  when  it's 
not  necessary  than  think  you  mightn't  do  it  when  it  was.  A 
wonderful  old  boy,  he  really  is  —  but  I  wish  he  wouldn't 
play  the  divvle  with  his  constitution  quite  so  freely ! " 

This  was  Harry,  light,  quick,  decisive.  Tom's  voice  was 
slower  and  deeper. 

"  He  let  out  to-day  that  the  attack  came  on  after  he'd 
been  rolling  the  lawn  all  the  morning." 

"  No,  did  he  ?  What  a  cunning  old  sinner  it  is !  I  must 
say  it's  a  comfort  to  me  to  know  that  you're  so  close  at  hand 
at  Chatham,  Tom.  By  the  way,  when  do  you  expect  to  get 
your  step  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  couple  of  years  yet,"  said  Tom,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Promotion  in  the  Sappers  is  so  beastly  slow  !  " 

Gardiner  shot  a  keen  glance  at  him. 

"  And  you  won't  marry  till  you  do  get  it  ?  " 

"  Can't  afford  to,  unless  I'm  sent  to  India,"  Tom  ruefully 
acknowledged. 

"  Borrow  off  me,  and  settle  things  up  at  once." 

"  Many  thanks,  but  I  should  never  be  able  to  pay  you 
back." 


132  CONVICT  B14 

"  Don't,  then.  I'm  laying  up  treasure  on  earth,  which 
the  Prayer  Book  says  I  mustn't.  There's  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred lying  idle  at  my  bank  which  you're  entirely  welcome  to, 
and  which  would  just  tide  you  over  the  next  two  years.  You 
ought  to  be  a  family  man,  Thomas,  you  were  cut  out  for  it. 
Besides,  Miss  Woodward  will  get  sick  of  waiting." 

Tom  continued  to  shake  his  obstinate  head.  "  It's  very 
good  of  you,  but  I'd  rather  not  do  that,"  he  said  with  some 
constraint.  "  You'll  want  to  marry  yourself  some  day." 

Gardiner  looked  at  him  again,  with  a  faint,  faint  light  of 
amusement..  He  could  never  bring  himself  to  take  Tom 
quite  seriously.  How  annoying  that  was,  to  Tom !  and  how 
little  Gardiner  meant  to  annoy ! 

"  When  I  find  myself  in  danger  of  matrimony,  maybe  I'll 
start  saving,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I  suppose  it's  no  use  press- 
ing you ?  No?  Well,  of  course  I'd  take  it  myself,  if  I  were 
in  your  shoes,  but  then  I  haven't  your  fine  sturdy  independ- 
ence, Thomas  —  also  I'm  older  than  you  are,  and  a  little 
less  positive  about  the  lines  of  right  and  wrong.  There  are 
times  when  you  remind  me  of  Denis  Merion-Smith,  do  you 
know  ?  By  the  by,  I  must  run  down  and  see  him  before  I 
go  back.  Yes,  and  if  I  pass  through  town  I  can  also  see — " 

His  voice  trailed  off  into  a  meditative  whistle,  and  a  spark 
lighted  in  his  eye. 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Tom  with  curiosity. 

"  A  young  lady  friend  of  mine,  who's  invited  me  to  call 
on  her.  There's  a  plum  for  you,  Thomas ;  make  the  most 
of  it.  Hullo,  here's  daddy." 

Mr.  Gardiner  appeared  in  the  porch,  a  small  wiry  figure 
with  a  spud  in  his  hand  and  a  Scotch  plaid  trailing  from 
one  shoulder.  The  top  of  his  head  was  bald  as  ivory,  but 
he  carefully  trained  across  it  certain  gray  locks  which,  when 
he  went  out  without  a  hat  (as  he  did  more  often  than  not), 
ruffled  up  on  end  like  a  crest.  He  was  making  towards  the 
flower-bed  when  his  son  came  and  took  the  tool  away. 

"  No,  daddy,  that  I  really  can't  allow,"  he  declared,  fold- 
ing the  plaid  round  the  little  figure.  It  was  rather  like  try- 
ing to  wrap  up  a  flea,  for  Mr.  Gardiner  made  a  dive  in  the 


WANTED  133 

middle  to  uproot  a  daisy.  "  You  must  remember  you're  an 
invalid.  You  sit  on  the  seat  and  superintend.  Vamos, 
hombre  —  that's  better.  Now,  what  do  you  want  done  ?  " 

"  The  whole  place  is  in  a  disgraceful  state,"  said  the  in- 
valid rebelliously.  "  Disgraceful.  It  wants  digging  over 
from  end  to  end.  Look  at  the  lawn !  That's  a  dandelion  I 
declare!" 

He  made  another  dart,  again  frustrated  by  his  laughing 
son.  "  Here,  you  come  and  sit  on  him,  Tom,  while  I  mow 
the  lawn !  "  Tom  rather  reluctantly  sat  down  and  kept  his 
father  anchored  by  the  arm,  while  Gardiner  plied  the  spud 
with  more  energy  than  skill,  earning  nothing  but  abuse  from 
the  ungrateful  invalid. 

"  You  young  folk  think  you  can  do  everything !  "  he  said 
irately.  "  I  know  you !  You'll  be  getting  up  into  my  pulpit 
next.  I'll  preach  next  Sunday,  no  matter  what  you  say,  on 
the  dangers  of  conceit.  Nice  incapable  pair  of  sons  I 
have ! " 

The  sun  shone,  the  doves  purred  in  the  lime-trees,  and 
Mr.  Gardiner  scolded  his  sons  with  all  his  energetic  soul 
because  they  wouldn't  let  him  dig  over  the  asparagus  beds. 
He  had  prolonged  his  life  to  this  his  sixty-ninth  year  on 
cod-liver  oil,  and  was  now  recovering  from  an  attack  of 
hemorrhage.  He  had  had  three  in  the  past  four  years,  but 
he  could  never  be  persuaded  to  take  any  precautions.  He 
kept  his  sons  in  perpetual  anxiety,  tempered,  at  least  for 
Gardiner,  by  faith  in  his  luck.  He  had  deserved  to  die  a 
dozen  times,  but  he  never  had;  and  Gardiner  found  it  hard 
to  believe  he  ever  would. 

You  cannot  know  a  man  thoroughly  till  you  have  seen  him 
in  his  home.  He  may  be  more  truly  himself  away  from  it; 
but  his  relations  with  his  family  always  contribute  some- 
thing to  the  sum  of  his  character.  Woodlands  was  Harry 
Gardiner's  home ;  those  woods  had  been  the  background 
and  the  vicarage  the  foreground  of  his  childhood.  The  in- 
come of  the  living  was  one  hundred  and  seventy  pounds,  and 
Mrs.  Gardiner  had  besides  sixty  pounds  a  year  of  her  own. 
After  deducting  life  assurance,  expense  of  collection  and 


134  CONVICT  B14 

rates  (which  the  unhappy  parson  whose  stipend  comes  from 
tithe  pays  on  the  whole  of  his  income,  as  well  as  on  the 
ratable  value  of  his  house),  there  was  left  about  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  pounds  to  live  on.  That,  for  four  persons, 
is  poverty :  not  want,  but  wholesome,  bracing  poverty.  Many 
a  time  had  Gardiner  blessed  his  early  training  to  endure 
hardness.  He  blessed  also  the  memory  of  his  big,  breezy, 
soft-hearted,  hot-tempered,  quick-witted  mother.  Two  pic- 
tures rose  in  his  mind  whenever  Gardiner  thought  of  her. 
In  one  she  was  chopping  suet  with  La  Hermana  San  Sulpicio 
propped  on  the  kitchen  scales  before  her  nose ;  in  the  other 
she  was  boxing  the  ears  of  a  choir-boy  who  sang  flat.  She 
was  half  Spanish,  and  had  been  brought  up  as  a  Roman 
Catholic;  but  she  'verted  so  completely  that  she  was  able 
to  remain  a  High  Churchwoman,  and  to  enjoy  hearing  Mass 
from  time  to  time.  She  died  during  Harry's  first  voyage, 
of  measles,  caught  in  Sunday  school. 

Gardiner  lounged  on  the  seat,  his  labors  ended,  with 
an  affectionate  arm  thrown  round  his  father's  shoulders. 
Presently  the  postman  came  in  sight,  and  Tom  went  to  take 
the  letters,  which  were  delivered  at  Woodlands  only  once  a 
day.  There  was  a  moneylender's  circular  for  the  vicar,  a 
love  letter  for  himself  and  a  whole  sheaf  for  Harry,  sent 
on  from  Rochehaut,  which  he  had  left  at  a  moment's  notice, 
in  answer  to  Tom's  telegram.  Tom,  absorbed  in  his  charm- 
ing May,  Mr.  Gardiner,  inveighing  against  the  slackness  of 
the  Government,  failed  to  notice,  either  of  them,  the  start- 
ling change  in  Harry's  face  as  he  examined  his  share  of  the 
post. 

"  Daddy,  I'm  sorry  to  say  I've  got  to  go." 

He  was  already  on  his  feet,  crushing  the  letter  in  his  hand. 
Mr.  Gardiner  looked  up. 

"  Go?  You  can't  go,  it's  just  dinner-time.  I  never  knew 
anybody  so  restless  as  you  two  boys ;  you  can't  be  still  a  mo- 
ment ! "  This  was  indeed  Satan  rebuking  sin.  "  Where 
do  you  want  to  go  to  ?  " 

"  Can't  say.     Callao,  for  choice." 


WANTED  135 

"What?" 

"  Callao  ?  "  echoed  Tom,  at  the  same  moment.  "  Why,  I 
thought  you  were  due  back  at  Rochehaut  on  Saturday !  " 

"  So  I  am,  but  I  shall  have  to  cut  it.  Look  here,  daddy, 
I'm  really  most  frightfully  sorry."  He  dropped  down  again 
beside  his  father  and  threw  an  arm  round  his  neck.  "  You 
mustn't  worry  your  dear  old  head  about  it,  because  it's  not 
worth  that;  but  the  truth  is  I've  got  myself  into  rather  a 
scrape.  I'm  wanted  by  the  police,  if  you  please!  Silly 
business,  isn't  it?  Of  course  it'll  all  blow  over,  but  in  the 
meantime  I  have  to  clear  out.  I  don't  want  to  be  had  up. 
There's  a  train  to  town  at  two-thirty,  which  I  shall  just 
catch  if  I  put  a  sprint  on.  What,  Tom?  Oh,  it's  Merion- 
Smith  who  writes  me.  His  letter's  been  out  to  Rochehaut, 
and  they  kept  it  there  till  they  heard  from  me  telling  them 
to  forward  things.  That's  why  I'm  in  such  a  divvle  of  a 
hurry." 

"  But,  Harry,  Harry,"  cried  the  old  man,  clinging  to  him 
with  the  tenacity  of  age  and  love,  "  what  is  it  about?  And 
is  it  true?  Have  you  done  anything?  Are  you  to  blame?  " 

"  No,  daddy,  I'm  not."  The  answer  came  unhesitatingly. 
He  stooped  and  kissed  his  father.  "  Don't  you  worry  about 
that.  I've  done  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  I  give  you  my 
word.  I'll  write  and  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  the  reason 
why  I  can't  stay,  but  I  haven't  time  now.  See  after  him, 
Tom!" 

The  son  who  wasn't  wanted  tried  vainly  to  console  the 
old  man  for  the  loss  of  the  son  who  was.  Mr.  Gardiner 
would  have  pursued  Harry  to  his  room  with  questions  if 
the  nurse  had  not  come  out  to  take  him  in  charge ;  failing 
that,  he  sent  Tom  to  knock  at  the  door.  A  preoccupied  voice 
told  him  to  come  in,  and  there  was  Gardiner  on  his  knees, 
cramming  clothes  into  a  suit-case  —  a  contrast,  this,  to  his 
usual  methodical  habits.  - 

"  I've  written  a  check  payable  to  you  for  the  amount  of 
my  balance  at  the  bank,"  he  said  without  looking  up ;  "  it's 
there  on  the  table.  Better  cash  it  at  once,  and  then  you  can 


136  CONVICT  B14, 

let  father  have  his  money  as  usual.  I  may  want  some  myself 
later  on,  when  I  can  let  you  have  an  address.  By  the  way, 
have  you  any  ready  money  on  you  ?  " 

"  Only  loose  silver." 

"  Oh,  dash  !  —  I'm  run  short  too,  and  I  know  daddy  hasn't 
any  in  the  house.  Well,  I  must  raise  the  wind  in  town 
somehow.  It's  an  infernal  nuisance  about  the  delay  of  that 
letter.  Nearly  ten  days  since  Denis  wrote !  " 

"  But  look  here,"  said  Tom,  getting  out  the  question  that 
was  burning  his  tongue,  "what's  it  all  about?  What  are 
you  accused  of  ?  " 

"  Murder ;  so  now  you  know." 

"Good  God!" 

Gardiner  only  laughed,  and  went  on  with  his  packing. 
Tom,  after  a  moment's  appalled  silence,  found  words. 

"  Then  in  heaven's  name,  Harry,  if  you're  innocent,  why 
do  you  bolt?  You're  giving  your  case  away.  You'll  never 
be  able  to  show  your  face  in  England  again  —  why,  good 
heavens !  it  means  that  father  will  never  see  you  again !  It'll 
break  his  heart.  Why  on  earth  don't  you  stay  and  face  it 
out?" 

"  Because  I  did  it,  my  good  chap."  Gardiner  faced  his 
brother  for  the  first  time,  sitting  back  on  his  heels.  "  Mind 
you,  what  I  said  to  father  was  strictly  true.  I've  done 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of ;  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  again  to- 
morrow—  or  you  either,  you  pillar  of  respectability!  If  I 
were  at  liberty  to  explain  all  the  circumstances  I  certainly 
wouldn't  bolt.  But  I'm  not ;  and  there's  the  rub.  Why?  — 
oh,  it's  a  complicated  business;  there  are  other  people  in- 
volved. That's  why  I'm  departing  in  such  a  hurry.  Cheer 
up,  Thomas ;  it's  less  scandalous  to  have  a  brother  in  Callao 
than  one  dangling  at  the  end  of  a  string  in  Westby  Jail. 
Better  for  father  too.  I  can  at  least  write  to  him." 

Tom  did  not  answer.  Homicide  is  homicide,  no  matter 
what  specious  excuses  Harry  might  manufacture ;  and  after 
hearing  his  gloss  on  his  downright  denial  to  his  father,  Tom 
was  not  disposed  to  trust  his  assertions  of  innocence. 

The  room  was  in  the  front  of  the  house,  giving  on  the 


WANTED  137 

garden  and  the  road.  Tom's  eyes  became  riveted  to  some 
object  outside. 

"  There's  the  Wrotham  bobby  at  the  gate,  with  another 
man." 

"What?" 

Gardiner  sprang  to  the  window,  and  then  fell  back  out  of 
sight  behind  the  curtain.  "  Yes ;  they're  after  me.  Wired 
out  to  Rochehaut,  I  suppose,  and  wired  back.  Keep  them 
off  daddy,  and  stick  out  to  him  that  I'm  innocent.  Keep 
them  off  me  too,  if  you  can,  and  give  me  a  start.  Say 
I've  gone  to  town.  I'll  write  when  I  can." 

Tom  clattered  down  the  stairs  behind  his  lighter- footed 
brother.  At  the  bottom  the  passage  ran  right  and  left,  to 
front  and  back.  Gardiner  turned  to  the  left,  but  was  stopped 
by  a  grip  on  his  shoulder.  The  ties  of  brotherhood  held  in 
the  face  of  danger.  Tom  was  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-by,  Harry  —  God  bless  you." 

"  Good-by,  old  Tom." 

They  parted :  Tom  to  the  front,  to  tackle  the  police ;  Gard- 
iner to  the  back,  en  route  for  South  America. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION 

Lead  such  temptations  by  the  head  and  hair, 
Reluctant  dragons,  up  to  who  dares  fight, 
That  so  he  may  do  battle  and  have  praise. 

The  Ring  and  the  Book. 

GARDINER  was  just  one  second  too  late.  As  he  reached  the 
back  door  the  police  arrived  at  the  front ;  and  they  saw  him. 
The  Wrotham  man,  who  had  known  him  as  a  wicked  small 
boy,  raised  a  sort  of  view-hallo  and  dashed  into  the  hall  in 
pursuit.  But  Tom's  broad  figure  was  in  the  way  (not  ob- 
structing the  police,  oh  dear,  no,  nothing  further  from  his 
mind,  just  solidly,  immovably  stupid!) ;  and  while  Cotterill 
dodged  round  him,  Gardiner  had  time  to  slip  through  the 
back  door,  slam  it  and  turn  the  key  in  his  pursuer's  face. 

He  was  not  one  of  those  unready  mortals  who  are  flus- 
tered by  a  sudden  strain.  On  the  contrary,  it  braced  him. 
He  dragged  Tom's  bicycle  out  of  the  shed,  and  ran  it  up 
the  kitchen  garden  to  the  gate  which  led  into  the  glebe ;  then 
across  the  meadow,  the  mild  cows  shying  and  backing  with 
lowered  heads  as  he  rushed  by  to  a  second  gate,  giving  on 
the  road.  Nobody  in  sight  yet,  the  coast  still  clear.  He 
heaved  his  machine  over  the  bars,  vaulted  them  himself  and 
rode  for  his  life. 

Woodlands  stands  at  the  end  of  a  trident  of  lanes,  whose 
left  arm  points  towards  Otford,  its  right  towards  Kings- 
down,  while  the  shank  leads  northwards  through  Farning- 
ham  to  Dartford.  Any  one  would  naturally  conclude  that 
a  fugitive  would  choose  this  last  road,  which  for  its  first 
four  miles  is  utterly  lonely.  Gardiner  turned  to  the  right, 
by  the  lane  which  climbs  through  woods,  with  many  a  twist, 
to  join  the  London  road  at  Kingsdown.  How  he  pedalled  up 
138 


COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION  139 

that  hill !  But  after  all,  as  he  told  himself,  breathless,  the 
gradients  were  the  same  for  them  as  for  him ;  and  if  he  was 
hampered  by  a  strange  bicycle,  Cotterill  was  portly. 

Level  ground  at  last,  and  the  Portobello  inn  at  the  cross- 
roads where  the  lane  cuts  the  highway.  Here  the  fugitive 
fell  in  with  the  great  stream  of  motorists  and  cyclists  who 
frequent  this  road  for  the  pleasure  of  spinning  down 
Wrotham  Hill  in  one  direction,  Farningham  Hill  in  the  other. 
On  the  Dartford  road  he  would  have  been  conspicuous  to 
every  one  he  met;  here  he  was  a  unit  in  the  crowd.  He 
turned  towards  London.  Down  into  Farningham,  over  the 
bridge,  with  its  magnificent  horse  chestnut  leaning  to  the 
Darenth,  a  tower  of  gold  on  a  field  of  emerald ;  up  the  op- 
posite slope  to  Swanley  Junction ;  on  through  the  Grays  to 
Sidcup,  where  the  suburbs  begin,  shades  of  the  prison-house ; 
and  finally,  London  itself. 

On  Vauxhall  Bridge  he  halted,  to  consider  his  course. 
It  was  unlucky,  most  unlucky  that  Cotterill  had  seen  him; 
his  description  would  be  all  over  the  country  to-morrow. 
The  first  thing  was  to  get  money.  He  must  borrow;  but 
from  whom?  Denis  was  at  Bredon,  his  other  male  friends 
were  in  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Yet  he  knew  without  hesita- 
tion where  to  go.  It  occurred  to  him  to  wonder,  as  he  asked 
his  way  of  the  policeman  outside  Vauxhall  station,  what  Tom 
would  have  said  to  the  idea  of  borrowing  from  a  girl. 

Strange  how  much  of  an  alien  he  felt  here  in  London! 
His  imagination,  roving  always  among  woods  and  moun- 
tains, a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade,  fell  choked  among 
bricks  and  mortar;  his  sense  of  smell,  keen  like  that  of  a 
wild  creature,  was  offended  by  the  fumes  of  motor  buses, 
by  hot  whiffs  from  restaurants  and  cook-shops,  by  the  odor 
of  the  horses  and  of  asphak  in  the  sun.  Above  all,  he  hated 
the  crowds.  City-lovers,  city-dwellers  all  of  them,  the  seedy 
loafer  spkting  into  the  Thames,  and  the  girl  in  magenta  and 
blanc  de  perle,  who  threw  him  coquettish  glances  from  under 
her  lace  veil.  "  I  can  do  with  these  people  for  a  few  hours, 
or  even  for  a  day  or  two,  but  to  live  here!"  he  thought. 
And  then  came  the  inevitable  corollary :  "  If  I  feel  like  this 


140  CONVICT  B14 

now,  what  would  it  be  to  be  boxed  up  with  twelve  or  fif- 
teen hundred  of  them,  day  and  night,  for  years?"  He 
turned  his  back  on  that  thought.  He  had  to  keep  a  steady 
hand  to  ward  off  panic,  which  lurked  at  his  heels  like  a  wolf. 

He  carried  himself  and  his  alien  feelings  across  town,  and 
presently  arrived  at  22  Canning  Street.  Miss  Smith  was 
out.  That  he  had  expected,  and  he  came  in  to  wait.  The 
little  maid  preceded  him  up  seventy-five  steps  to  Lettice's 
attic.  "Oh,  them  stairs!"  she  sighed,  with  a  hand  at  her 
waist.  Gardiner  wondered  how  Lettice  liked  the  climb. 
She  was  not  so  very  fond  of  hills.  But  when  he  was  left 
alone,  and  had  looked  out  of  her  window  far  across  the 
roofs,  and  seen  her  glimpse  of  the  river  and  of  the  Surrey 
hills,  he  understood.  It  was  worth  it.  Here,  above  the 
world,  Lettice  found  the  breathing-space  which  she  loved  as 
well  as  he.  There  was  a  pot  of  violets  on  the  table ;  he  put 
the  blossoms  aside  with  one  finger,  and  buried  his  nose  in 
the  moss  surrounding  them.  That  was  good!  That  was 
the  breath  of  the  woods ;  Gardiner  would  have  given  all  the 
flower  scents  in  the  world  for  that  wet  woody  fragrance. 

Sitting  down,  he  discovered  that  he  was  tired,  very  tired. 
It  is  deadly  demoralizing  to  be  hunted.  Here  for  the  mo- 
ment he  was  safe;  and  in  the  blessed  relief  from  strain  he 
fell  asleep. 

Lettice  came  in  from  the  Museum  at  six ;  she  had  her  own 
key,  and  as  it  chanced  did  not  meet  the  little  maid  Beatrice. 
Up  the  stairs  she  toiled,  with  her  neat  case  of  papers,  came 
into  her  room,  meticulously  noiseless  as  her  pleasure  was, 
and  paused  by  her  table,  pulling  off  her  gloves,  ever  so 
slowly,  before  she  found  energy  to  look  round.  Then  she 
saw  Gardiner  asleep  in  her  chair. 

It  was  one  of  Lettice's  principles  never  to  interfere  with 
anybody  if  She  could  possibly  help  it.  She  saw  no  reason 
for  waking  him ;  she  did  not  wake  him.  She  set  about  mak- 
ing tea  instead.  A  spirit  stove  burns  noiseless;  crockery 
deftly  handled  need  not  chink.  The  soft  sounds  of  Let- 
tice's business  would  not  have  startled  a  mouse.  She  cut 
bread  and  butter.  She  carried  a  bunch  of  water-cress  to 


COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION  141 

the  tap  on  the  landing  and  washed  it  there.  She  fetched 
from  her  cupboard  a  shape  of  tongue,  a  glass  of  shrimp  paste, 
fresh  butter,  strawberry  jam,  bananas  —  the  usual  menu  of 
the  dweller  in  rooms.  It  was  not  in  the  bond  that  she  should 
lay  her  own  meals,  but  she  often  did  it  to  save  Beatrice's 
tired  legs.  Lastly,  she  made  the  tea.  As  she  replaced  the 
kettle  on  the  stove,  the  lid  fell  off ;  and  Gardiner  awoke. 

He  sat  up  and  stared. 

"  Tea's  ready,"  Lettice  announced,  with  a  benignant  smile. 

"  I  never  heard  you  come  in !  " 

"  I  know,"  s-aid  his  hostess,  "  you  were  fast  asleep.  Come 
along,  before  the  toast  gets  cold." 

She  asked  no  questions,  she  seemed  to  want  no  explana- 
tions. Blessed  are  the  people  who  take  things  for  granted ! 
Gardiner  drew  up  his  chair,  discovering  suddenly  that  he 
was  hungry.  Leltice  poured  out:  soft-toned,  placid,  sooth- 
ing Lettice,  supplying  the  needs  of  his  body  with  maternal 
care,  and  sitting  there  opposite,  delicately  fresh  and  neat, 
with  those  misleadingly  soft,  derisive  hazel  eyes!  He  liked 
to  watch  the  slow,  accurate  movements  of  her  hands,  and 
their  funny  little  flutter  of  make-believe  agitation,  when  she 
hastened  to  supply  his  request  for  a  piece  of  sugar. 

"  I  don't  believe  you've  had  any  lunch,"  she  admonished 
him,  pouring  out  his  third  cup. 

"  Haven't.  I  came  off  in  a  hurry.  I  don't  know  that  I 
ever  tasted  anything  quite  so  good  as  this  tongue  of  yours. 
You  are  a  Good  Samaritan,  you  know." 

Lettice  did  not  tell  him  he  was  eating  up  her  Sunday 
dinner.  She  dismissed  the  subject  with  her  little  French 
shrug. 

"And  how's  Mr.  Gardiner?" 

"  Going  strong.  I  say,  would  you  very  much  mind  if  I 
had  a  pipe  ?  "  Lettice,  who  loathed  tobacco,  shook  her  head. 
"  Sure  ?  You  really  have  all  the  virtues.  By  the  way,  can 
you  lend  me  some  money  ?  " 

If  that  did  not  startle  her,  nothing  would!  It  did  not 
startle  her.  She  looked  pensive  for  a  moment,  then  asked : 
"  How  much  do  you  want?" 


142  CONVICT  BU 

"  How  much  have  you  ?  " 

"  Nine  sovereigns,  and  the  change  out  of  another." 

"  Could  you  possibly  let  me  have  the  nine  sovereigns  ?  " 

Lettice  nodded.  Getting  up  without  more  ado,  she  un- 
locked her  desk,  strung  out  the  sovereigns  in  a  row  upon  the 
white  cloth  beside  him,  and  returned  to  her  seat. 

"  Well,  I'm  hanged !  "  said  Gardiner.  "  Don't  you  even 
want  to  know  what  I  want  it  for  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  as  usual,  then  added  a  polite  but  per- 
functory "  Yes,  of  course  I'm  very  much  interested." 

"  I  want  it  because  the  police  are  after  me." 

At  that  she  looked  up. 

"  Yes,  the  old  affair  at  Grasmere.  You  weren't  in  time 
with  that  letter  to  Denis.  Mrs.  Trent's  been  at  Dent-de- 
lion  for  the  last  six  weeks  —  ever  since  she  left  Rochehaut ; 
and  she's  managed  to  worm  the  truth  out  of  Denis.  What? 
Oh  yes,  the  truth ;  I  forgot  you  didn't  know.  I  did  knock 
Trent  down.  Of  course  he  was  simply  asking  for  it;  but 
the  fact  remains  that  technically  I'm  guilty  of  manslaughter 
—  murder,  Mrs.  Trent  calls  it.  Does  that  give  you  the 
horrors  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Lettice. 

Gardiner's  eye  lit  up.  "  Ah !  it  did  to  Tom.  It  does  to 
Denis,  though  he'd  rather  die  than  own  it.  But  I  had  a 
sort  of  feeling  that  you  wouldn't  take  it  like  that.  .  .  .  You 
know,  it  gave  me  the  deuce  of  a  twinge  when  Tom  turned 
chilly ! " 

Lettice  nodded,  accepting  that  unlikely  confidence  as  a 
matter  of  course.  She  reverted  to  his  former  speech. 

"  Did  you  say  she  got  it  out  of  Denis?  " 

"  She  did.  How,  I  don't  know.  He  doesn't  say :  doesn't 
say  much,  in  fact.  But  she  knows  that  if  he's  put  into  the 
witness-box  he  can't  deny  it.  You  know,  she  played  —  well, 
you  might  fairly  call  it  a  shabby  trick  on  me;  and  I  never 
blamed  her.  I'm  fair  game.  But  Denis  is  quite  another 
pair  of  shoes.  I  don't  know  how  I'm  going  to  forgive  her 
for  meddling  with  him.  You  see  his  letter." 

Lettice  read  the  few  stiff  phrases  in  which  Denis  owned 


COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION  143 

that  he  had  let  his  friend's  secret  escape.  He  said  little 
about  Dorothea,  not  a  word  about  himself. 

"I  call  that  one  of  the  most  pathetic  things  I've  ever 
read,"  said  Gardiner,  with  far  more  feeling  than  he  had 
shown  for  his  own  misfortune.  "  I'd  have  owned  up  vol- 
untarily, I  swear  I  would,  sooner  than  have  this  happen. 
It  doesn't  do  to  play  tricks  of  this  sort  on  a  fellow  like 
Denis.  They  cut  too  deep.  It's  like  ill-treating  a  child. 
Oh,  it  was  a  beastly  thing  to  do  !  " 

"  It  was  a  damnable  thing  to  do." 

Strong  words,  to  suit  strong  feelings.  Lettice's  soft  lips 
were  grim.  Gardiner  was  disposed  to  feel  sorry  for  Dor- 
othea. But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  nothing;  Lettice 
laid  by  her  wrath  in  silence  and  brought  back  her  mind  to 
Gardiner's  case. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  then  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Oh,  I'm  off.  Didn't  I  tell  you  the  police  are  after 
me?" 

"  The  police  ?  " 

"  Chasing  me  out  of  Woodlands  on  bikes.  You  see  this 
letter  of  Denis's,  which  was  evidently  written  post-haste 
after  Mrs.  Trent  got  the  truth  out  of  him,  is  dated  Tuesday, 
the  eighth ;  which  was  the  very  day  I  got  Tom's  wire  calling 
me  home.  It  must  have  gone  out  to  Rochehaut  and  lain 
there  nearly  a  week,  till  I  wrote  for  my  mail  to  be  for- 
warded. In  the  meantime  I  presume  Mrs.  Trent  took  her 
tale  to  the  police.  She  can  be  quite  temperate  and  con- 
vincing when  she  likes ;  besides,  she  has  an  uncle  in  the 
Home  Office,  Sir  Thomas  Felton,  who's  no  end  of  a  swell  — 
I  heard  that  quite  by  accident  the  other  day  —  and  he  no 
doubt  pulled  some  wires.  The  magistrates  would  grant  a 
warrant ;  then  I  imagine  a  detective  started  for  Rochehaut, 
found  me  gone,  got  my  address  in  England  and  came  straight 
back.  At  any  rate,  this  morning,  not  ten  minutes  after  I'd 
got  Denis's  bomb-shell,  a  couple  of  bobbies  turned  up  at  the 
vicarage  to  arrest  me.  I  evaded  out  of  the  back  door  as  they 
came  in  at  the  front,  and  got  away  on  Tom's  bike.  They 
don't  know  I'm  riding,  so  I  hope  they'll  waste  time  looking 


144  CONVICT  B14 

for  a  pedestrian.  I'll  stay  here  till  it's  dark  if  you'll  put  up 
with  me,  bike  on  to  Southampton  to-night  and  work  my  way 
out  to  South  America.  I'm  no  amateur,  you  see  —  I've 
done  it  before." 

Lettice's  face  did  not  usually  express  her  feelings,  but  as 
Gardiner  proceeded  with  his  tale,  it  woke  up.  She  said : 

"  Then  do  you  mean  to  say  you're  running  away  ?  " 

"  Claro.    What  else  would  you  have  me  do?  " 

"  You  might  stay  and  face  it." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  good  enough.  I  did  knock 
him  down,  and  he  did  die.  I  should  pretty  certainly  be  con- 
victed of  manslaughter,  and  might  get  quite  a  stiff  sentence." 

"  Not  if  you  explained  the  provocation." 

"  I  think  so,  even  then."  Gardiner  could  not  tell  her,  as 
he  had  told  Tom,  that  on  the  vital  point  his  tongue  was 
sealed.  She  knew  too  much.  He  temporized.  "  You  see, 
it  was  the  wrong  sort  of  provocation.  All  I  could  say  would 
be  that  he  was  telling  stories  that  weren't  very  pretty,  and 
you'd  never  get  a  British  jury  to  sympathize  with  a  fancy 
scruple  of  that  sort.  Besides,  I've  damaged  my  own  case  by 
not  owning  up  at  once.  That  would  tell  against  me  very 
heavily  —  very  heavily  indeed.  No,  I'm  afraid  there's  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  clear  out." 

Lettice  said  nothing,  but  her  face  continued  to  express 
complete  and  solid  disagreement.  She  rose  to  clear  the  table. 
Gardiner,  who  had  his  chair  tilted  back  and  his  fork  balanc- 
ing on  one  finger,  after  one  glance  at  her,  proceeded  to  de- 
velop his  argument. 

"  It  would,  as  I  say,  mean  prison ;  and  prison  is  precisely 
the  one  thing  I'm  not  prepared  to  stand.  It's  not  the  hard- 
ships—  they're  luxury  compared  to  what  I've  put  up  with 
in  my  time  —  it's  the  confinement,  the  restraint,  the  —  the 
utter  beastliness  of  never  being  able  to  get  away  from  some- 
body's eyes !  I  assure  you  it  gives  me  the  blue  divvies  even 
to  think  of.  I  am  convinced  it  would  drive  me  off  my  head. 
I  should  go  must,  and  brain  a  warder  —  no,  I  think  it  would 
be  the  doctor  for  choice:  I  met  him  once,  he  was  a  sympa- 


COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION  145 

thetic  little  brute  as  ever  stepped.  I'd  far  rather  be  hanged 
out  of  hand." 

Lettice,  still  mute,  took  away  his  fork.  Gardiner  per- 
severingly  glanced  up  into  her  small  pale  face  for  a  change 
of  opinion.  The  more  she  disapproved,  the  more  he  wanted 
to  win  her  over  to  his  own  way  of  thinking.  He  was  grow- 
ing quite  absurdly  anxious  to  propitiate  this  exacting  critic. 

"  Don't  you  think,  in  view  of  all  the  circumstances  —  the 
feelings  of  my  family,  the  unpleasant  scandal,  and  my  own 
state  of  blue  funk  —  don't  you  think  the  best  thing  I  can  do 
is  to  clear  out  ?  " 

Lettice  had  to  speak  now,  and  she  spoke. 

"  If  you're  afraid  of  a  thing,  I  should  think  you'd  want 
to  face  it  and  prove  to  yourself  that  you  aren't." 

"  Prove  to  myself  that  I'm  not  afraid  of  prison?  But  I 
am!  " 

"  Then  that's  all  the  more  reason  for  not  running  away." 

Uncompromising!  Lettice,  who  could  bend  her  supple 
mind  to  look  through  the  eyes  of  tinker,  tailor,  soldier,  sailor 
or  any  one  else  even  down  to  the  thief,  and  could  sympathize 
with  all,  could  not  sympathize  with  Gardiner :  could  not  be- 
lieve, or  even  pretend  to  believe,  that  cowardice  might  ever 
be  more  expedient  for  him  than  courage.  It  was  not  so 
much  the  immorality  of  running  away,  it  was  the  stupidity  of 
it :  the  fact  that  he  was  destroying  his  own  future  happiness, 
making  it  impossible  for  himself  ever  again  to  live  at  peace 
with  his  own  soul.  All  very  well  for  weaklings  to  be  weak ; 
but  Gardiner  —  she  couldn't  understand  how  he  could  think 
twice  about  it !  Her  dissent  was  so  acute  that  it  made  itself 
felt  through  all  her  reticences  and  evasions.  Gardiner 
stared,  his  own  eyes  opening  to  see  his  future  as  she  saw 
it ;  but  he  shut  them  again  at  once,  and  willfully  turned 
away. 

"  Qh,  that's  idealism,"  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh,  "  and 
this  is  a  world  of  compromise.  I  can't  get  so  high  as  you. 
If  I'm  afraid  of  a  thing,  I  want  quite  simply  to  run  away. 
Talking  of  which,  I'd  better  be  off ;  it's  dark  enough  now." 


146  CONVICT  B14 

He  went  to  the  window,  and  came  back.  Lcttice  was 
sweeping  up  the  crumbs ;  she  moved  the  nine  sovereigns  out 
of  her  way.  Gardiner  picked  them  up  and  let  them  slip 
one  by  one  into  his  pocket. 

"  You  aren't  going  to  reclaim  your  loan,  then,  and  force 
me  to  face  my  bogy  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  twice,  slowly.  Gardiner  had  singed 
himself  once  already  at  the  fire,  yet  he  returned  again,  flut- 
tering round  the  dangerous  subject.  He  would  have  given 
anything  to  drag  some  sort  of  approval,  or  even  condona- 
tion, out  of  Lettice.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  must  be  per- 
suaded, if  he  could  only  put  his  case  convincingly  enough. 

"  Of  course  it's  just  on  the  cards  that  I  might  be  hanged 
for  murder,  you  know,"  he  pointed  out  —  not  believing  it, 
but  for  the  sake  of  argument.  "  Come  now ;  won't  you  at 
least  admit  for  my  father's  sake  it's  better  not  to  take  that 
risk?" 

Lettice  lifted  herself,  straightening  her  shoulders.  Tray  in 
hand,  brush  in  the  other,  a  domesticated  sibyl,  she  faced  him 
and  delivered  her  final  judgment. 

"  I  should  think  Mr.  Gardiner  would  rather  have  you 
hanged  than  running  away !  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  GREEN  THOUGHT  IN  A  GREEN  SHADE 

Enter  these  enchanted  woods, 
You  who  dare! 

The  Woods  of  Westermain. 

GARDINER  bought  himself  an  outfit  at  a  second-hand  dealer's 
in  one  of  the  back  streets  off  the  Vauxhall  Bridge  Road. 
His  plan  was  to  ride  as  far  as  the  next  station  before  South- 
ampton, leave  his  machine  at  the  cloak-room  there,  and 
change  his  clothes  in  some  wood  before  going  on  into  the 
town.  Once  among  the  docks,  he  would  slip  on  board  some 
outward-bound  ship,  if  he  could  find  one  about  to  sail  and  if 
he  could  evade  the  night  watchman,  and  stow  away  till  she 
was  at  sea.  Such  things  are  still  done  by  gentlemen  whose 
reasons  for  not  signing  on  in  public  are  urgent.  Of  course 
the  captain  might  hand  him  over  to  the  British  consul  at  the 
end  of  the  voyage  —  but  he  preferred  not  to  think  of  that. 
From  the  Portobello  inn  to  London  is  exactly  twenty-one 
miles,  from  London  to  Southampton  is  something  under 
eighty:  a  longish  journey  for  an  out-of-practice  rider  on  a 
strange  machine.  Gardiner  left  town  by  the  Portsmouth 
road.  The  first  green  he  passed  (by  such  things  did  he 
count  off  the  stages  of  his  journey,  where  another  man 
would  have  reckoned  by  inns),  was  Clapham  Common,  a 
dismal  vision  of  lamps,  railings,  wet  asphalt,  unhappy  grass, 
and  avenues  of  suicidal  trees.  Next  came  Wandsworth 
Common ;  then,  beyond  Roehampton,  Wimbledon  and  Rich- 
mond Park.  They  gave  him  a  breath  of  true  night  sweet- 
ness, but  he  was  in  Surbiton  directly,  with  its  blazing  lamps 
and  self-complacent  villas.  Gardiner  hated  suburbs.  Bet- 
ter the  frank  vulgar  life  of  the  Vauxhall  Bridge  Road  than 
their  soul-destroying,  smug  respectability.  He  raced  on 
147 


148  CONVICT  BU 

through  Esher,  sedate  and  pleasant  old  town ;  and  with  the 
end  of  Esher  came  the  beginning  of  the  real  country. 

"  My  soul 

Smoothed  itself  out,  a  long-cramped  scroll, 
Freshening  and  fluttering  in  the  wind.  .  .  ." 

Beyond  the  palings  of  Claremont  Park,  at  the  entrance 
of  the  Oxshott  woods,  he  was  brought  up  by  a  puncture.  He 
mended  it,  crouching  under  a  lamp  beside  the  road.  Un- 
fenced,  alluring,  dangerous,  the  woods  pressed  up  behind. 
They  sent  forward  their  scouts,  silver  birches  up  to  their 
knees  in  bracken  which  crept  out  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
road,  black  pines  stalking  forward,  stealthy  as  red-skins,  to 
peer  down  at  the  stranger.  Scents  and  sounds  of  the  forest 
floated  out,  filaments  of  enticement.  Gardiner  glanced  ir- 
resolutely down  the  road,  while  under  the  solemn-burning, 
stately  procession  of  lamps,  which  marched  away  through 
the  night  over  valley  and  hill.  A  car  rushed  by,  steaming 
golden  vapors:  it  glared  at  him  for  an  instant  with  big 
golden  eyes,  and  was  gone,  with  dying  roar.  He  looked 
down  the  road  of  mankind ;  and  then  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  silent  tempting  ranks  of  the  pines  and  the  soft  savage 
darkness  that  pressed  close  on  every  side.  If  he  rested 
here  for  ten  minutes  or  so?  He  was  tired  ;  and  there  was  no 
hurry.  He  dragged  his  bicycle  out  of  the  ditch  and  wheeled 
it  into  the  woods. 

Moss  underfoot;  on  either  side  the  pines,  scattered  at 
first  among  fine-leaved  undergrowth,  then  closing  up  in  or- 
dered ranks.  His  .lamp  tiger-striped  their  dark  even  col- 
umns till  he  left  the  machine  propped  against  one  of  them. 
Even  by  day  the  heart  of  these  woods  is  lonely.  The  trip- 
pers who  sit  by  companies  along  every  green  ride,  with  their 
buns  and  oranges,  never  wander  far  from  the  path.  Pre- 
sumably they  are  afraid  of  bears.  Now,  by  night,  the  whole 
forest  was  triumphantly  savage,  solitary,  and  dark,  so  dark 
that  Gardiner,  though  he  had  cat's  eyes,  sometimes  greeted 
his  friends  the  trees  by  running  into  them.  He  soon  strayed 
from  the  track.  Underfoot  the  ground  became  swampy. 


A  GREEN  THOUGHT  IN  A  GREEN  SHADE  149 

Pools  of  red-brown  rain-water  splashed  him  to  the  knee; 
long  brambles  trailed  their  thorns  across  his  face. 

The  ground  rose  beneath  his  feet,  and  he  found  himself 
stumbling  up  a  hill,  his  feet  sinking  deep  in  soft  masses  of 
pine-needles.  Here  was  the  summit  of  a  ridge,  so  steep 
and  narrow  that  on  either  side  he  could  see  the  pallor  of 
the  sky  between  the  dark  columns  of  the  trees.  As  he  fol- 
lowed the  line  of  the  ridge  downwards  the  woods  closed 
again,  but  there  grew  before  him,  low  among  the  stems,  a 
sort  of  pool  of  whiteness:  not  the  sky  this  time,  but  the 
light  of  some  clearing.  The  ridge  came  to  its  end  in  an 
abrupt  round  knoll,  the  ground  fell  away  at  his  feet,  and 
there  —  O  miracle  of  sudden  loveliness !  —  before  him  shone 
a  lake.  Ebony  and  silver,  polished  like  a  mirror,  misted 
with  faint  gauze,  it  lay  in  a  cup  of  soft  black  woods.  A 
rustling  throng  of  rushes,  pale  and  ghostly,  stepped  forward 
into  the  water  among  their  slim  reflections.  Silver-gray 
and  even-tinted,  the  sky  arched  above,  cut  by  the  small  in- 
cisive crescent  of  the  moon. 

Gardiner  threw  himself  down  among  the  pine-needles. 
He  gave  himself  to  the  woods,  and  tet  them  work  on  him 
with  their  melancholy  and  voluptuous  charm.  The  night 
took  his  spirit  in  her  cool  hands  and  smoothed  it  out,  as 
the  sun  smoothes  and  strengthens  the  crumpled  wings  of  a 
new-hatched  butterfly.  It  was  not  enough  that  he  should 
steep  himself  in  loveliness;  a  thousand  light  touches  were 
stilling  and  charming  every  nerve  of  sensation,  smell  and 
touch  and  hearing  as  well  as  sight.  There  was  the  surging 
murmur  of  the  wind  among  the  pines;  night  perfumes  of 
water  and  forest ;  warm  elastic  softness  of  the  fir-needles 
under  his  tired  body.  The  old  pagan  earth  was  whispering 
her  seductions  into  his  ear. 

"Love  and  joy  be  thine,  O  spirit,  for  ever; 
Serve  thy  sweet  de?ire;  despise  endeavor." 

"  //  you're  afraid  of  a  thing,  I  should  think  you'd  want  to 
face  it  and  prove  to  yourself  that  you  aren't." 

The  words  floated   into  his  head  out  o-f  nowhere.     He 


150  CONVICT  B14 

could  hear  the  very  intonation  of  Lettice's  voice.  "  What 
folly!  "  he  said  to  himself,  and  laughed  the  memory  away. 
Nevertheless,  a  sharp  little  dart  of  discomfort  stuck  fast  in 
his  self-complacency,  and,  smarting,  forced  him  to  think. 
How  much  better  it  was  to  lie  here  free  in  the  woods  than 
in«a  police  court  cell !  to  listen  to  the  wind  in  the  pines  rather 
than  to  a  casual  "  drunk  and  dis  "  banging  on  his  door ! 
Yes,  said  a  voice,  rising  unexpectedly  within  him  to  take 
sides  with  Lettice,  but  does  one  live  only  for  what  is  com- 
fortable ?  "  That's  all  the  more  reason  for  staying."  There 
was  Lettice's  answer,  net  and  uncompromising.  She  would 
not  have  run  away.  Denis,  then :  how  would  he  have  taken 
it?  Denis,  more  single-minded,  would  not  even  have  felt 
the  temptation  —  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  him  that 
to  run  away  was  possible.  No,  the  fact  was  not  to  be 
blinked;  what  he  was  doing  would  surprise  and  disappoint 
both  these  friends  of  his.  Be  it  so,  then,  he  told  himself, 
defiant ;  he  would  still  do  it,  even  in  the  face  of  these  dis- 
approving witnesses. 

In  .the  face  of  another  Witness,  moreover.  Men  who  live 
close  to  nature  cannot  escape  from  the  presence  of  God. 
Only  for  a  very  few  years  of  his  very  early  youth  had 
Gardiner  been  able  to  be  a  materialist.  As  soon  as  the  soul 
was  born  in  him  (about  the  age  of  eighteen;  for  boys 
haven't  souls,  only  the  rudiments)  he  'had  begun  to  be  con- 
scious of  the  august  and  gracious  Power  which  held  him 
as  in  the  hollcfw  of  a  hand.  The  feeling  was  intermittent, 
the  grip  at  times  relaxed,  -but  it  never  let  him  free.  Now,  to 
his  anger  and  terror,  he  felt  again  the  pressure  of  that  con- 
trol. The  Hand  that  held  him  forced  on  him  no  action ; 
but  gently,  steadily,  inexorably,  it  turned  him  to  face  the 
truth,  bidding  him  see  what  he  was  doing.  He  struggled 
against  it  with  passion,  trying  to  avert  his  eyes,  trying  to 
get  back  to  the  spirit  of  the  woods,  but  in  vain.  And  then 
suddenly  his  resistance  collapsed,  and  he  looked.  Yes !  he 
was  running  away.  He  was  letting  'his  weakness  rule.  He 
was  destroying  the  love  of  his  friends,  failing  them,  failing 
too  the  Power  which  had  created  him  to  be  a  fighter,  not  a 


A  GREEN  THOUGHT  IN  A  GREEN  SHADE    151 

shirker.  He  blinded  his  eyes  no  longer,  he  did  not  tell 
himself  that  he  was  taking  the  only  sensible  course ;  he  owned 
that  his  flight  was  contemptible.  But  what  else  could  he  do? 
"  I  can't  go  back  now  !  "  he  said,  panic  knocking  at  his  heart. 
"  If  I'd  owned  up  in  the  first  instance  it  would  have  been  all 
right,  and  I  wish  to  God  I  had ;  but  now  —  now  I've  made 
it  impossible  for  them  to  do  anything  but  convict.  Oh,  what 
on  earth  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Face  it,"  said  the  inner  voice.  "  Look  your  fear  in  the 
eyes,  and  look  it  down.  Never  mind  the  cost."  And  after 
a  pause  of  struggling  terror  it  spoke  again :  "  If  you  fail 
now,  it  will  not  be  the  end ;  it  will  be  the  beginning.  You 
will  fail  again,  and  worse.  You  will  go  down  among  the 
cowards  and  weaklings.  You  will  lose  Denis;  you  will 
lose  Lettice.  Do  you  know  what  that  means?  Look,  my 
child,  look  well  before  you  do  this  thing.  Weigh  what  it 
will  cost  you." 

He  weighed  it,  desperate  now  under  that  soft  inexor- 
able pressure.  He  saw,  rebelling  against  the  vision,  all  his 
future  loss.  Turning  from  that,  he  saw,  on  the  other 
side,  prison,  and  the  tide  of  panic  rushing  towards  him. 
Already  it  was  cold  about  his  feet.  He  could  not  bear  it; 
he  fled  for  refuge  to  his  old  purpose.  He  must  get  away. 
To  that  thought  he  clung,  lifting  his  agonized  face.  "  What 
else  can  I  do  ?  What  else  can  I  do  ?  " 

And  then  down  came  the  thunder  of  the  Presence  all 
around  him,  sweeping  him  from  his  poor  little  foothold. 
"  Do,  poor  weak  human  child  ?  Trust  Me.  I  will  be  your 
strength.  Lay  your  hand  in  mine  and  have  no  fear." 

He  went  down,  down,  drowned  in  gulfs  of  agony,  blinded 
by  the  light  of  God.  Did  he  decide  for  himself,  of  free 
will,  or  was  the  choice  taken  out  of  his  hands?  It  seemed 
so  to  him;  but  in  reality  k  was  his  own  past  self  which 
decided,  the  sum  of  the  courage  and  the  discipline  which 
he  had  learned  in  common  practice  day  by  day.  For  God 
does  not  save  us  against  our  will;  and  the  measure  of  the 
triumphant  strength  which  he  pours  into  us  in  moments 
of  stress  is  the  measure  of  our  own  past  efforts. 


152  CONVICT  B14 

Gardiner  lifted  his  head.  The  moon  was  gone  now, 
behind  the  trees,  which  threw  black  shadows  across  the 
argent  of  the  lake.  He  was  cold  and  stiff  and  desperately 
tired,  but  he  stood  up  and  began  to  retrace  his  steps  towards 
the  road.  Soon  the  topaz-gleaming  lamps  shone  through  the 
trees,  and  he  came  out  not  a  hundred  yards  from  the  point 
where  he  had  left  his  bicycle.  There  was  Mars,  the  star 
of  battles,  shining  over  the  glow  of  London.  In  the  oppo- 
site direction  lay  Southampton  and  the  sea.  He  turned  his 
back  on  these,  and  rode  towards  that  star. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
WHEN  THE  HEART  SUFFERS  A  BLOW 

What  says  the  body  when  they  spring 
Some  monster  torture-engine's  whole 
Strength  on  it?  No  more  says  the  soul. 

Count  Gismond. 

FLYING  is  no  sport  for  the  sluggard.  The  calmest  hours 
of  the  twenty-four  are  often  those  before  the  dawn,  and 
the  earnest  aviator  must  be  ready  to  turn  out  of  his  warm 
bed  at  six,  five,  four,  even  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
whether  in  the  pleasant  summer,  or  in  the  correspondingly 
unpleasant  winter.  He  may  then  have  to  spend  long  hours 
at  the  'drome  waiting  for  the  fog  to  lift,  or  the  rain  to  clear, 
or  the  wind  to  drop ;  and  in  the  end,  as  like  as  not,  he  may 
have  to  go  home,  wet,  chilly,  and  sleepy,  without  having  flown 
a  yard.  Decidedly  not  the  sport  for  a  sluggard. 

Six  A.M.  in  mid-October,  and  bitterly  cold.  There  was 
a  gray  sky,  ripple  on  ripple  of  quilted  cloud  with  never  a 
gleam,  and  a  small  icy  wind  that  blew  persistently  from  the 
north.  The  coarse  bice-green  of  the  marshes  was  all  dis- 
colored ;  the  sedge,  biscuit-pale,  was  clotted  with  mud  from 
the  September  floods ;  the  brimming  dikes  were  ruled  by  the 
wind  into  long  ripples,  hard  and  black  against  the  dawn. 
The  dawn  itself,  how  wan  and  threatening!  Denis,  survey- 
ing the  signs  of  the  sky  as  he  unlocked  the  hangar,  exerted 
himself  to  remark  to  Simpson  that  it  looked  like  rain.  Simp- 
son, expert  mechanic  and  latter-day  Grimaud,  assented  with 
his  civil  grunt.  His  uncivil  grunt  he  did  not  use  on  Denis, 
who  had  once  been  his  officer. 

Like  every  worker  who  spins  his  stuff  out  of  his  own 
brain,  Denis  at  times  "  went  stale."     For  the  past  ten  days 
the  flying  boat  had  been  laid  aside,  and  he  had  been  tinkering 
153 


154  CONVICT  B14 

at  the  monoplane  by  way  of  relaxation.  Never  losing  sight 
of  the  function  for  which  she  had  been  built,  that  of  a  small 
fast  scout  in  the  war  which  he  expected,  he  was  always  add- 
ing small  improvements.  Thus,  after  his  experience  in  the 
Birmingham  race,  he  had  fitted  her  with  self-starting  gear, 
which  enabled  the  pilot  to  get  away  at  will,  independent  of 
outside  help.  Now  he  was  working  at  a  brake.  Landing 
is  still  one  of  the  chief  dangers  in  cross-country  flying,  espe- 
cially in  England,  where  fields  are  small,  and  there  is  often 
a  web  of  overhead  wires.  At  that  time  (1913)  there  were 
not  a  dozen  aerodromes  in  the  kingdom,  and  not  one  aero- 
plane in  ten  had  a  brake  of  any  sort. 

Theoretically,  Denis's  new  design  was  all  it  should  be ; 
practically,  of  course,  it  might  upset  the  machine  and  kill 
the  pilot.  Not  that  Denis  ever  believed  he  would  be  killed. 
"  The  airman  hath  said  in  his  heart,  Tush,  I  shall  never  be 
cast  down,  there  shall  no  harm  happen  unto  me."  He  be- 
lieved other  people  might  be  killed,  however,  and  for  this 
reason  had  severely  snubbed  Simpson  when  he  offered  to 
take  on  the  trials.  Simpson,  faithful  dog,  bore  no  resent- 
ment. He  had  been  watching  the  events  of  the  past  few 
weeks,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  'e  (in  Simpson's 
mind  Denis  was  always  'e)  wasn't  to  say  accountable  just 
now.  "  You'd  'a'  thought  'e  might  'a'  took  warning  by 
Muster  Wandesforde,"  he  reflected.  "  'E's  a  nice  gent 
spoiled  by  the  women,  if  ever  there  was  one.  But  no. 
Jane!  JANE!  'Ave  you  got  that  stooed  steak  on  yet? 
You  ain't?  Then  it'll  be  .as  tough  as  your  shoe  again.  'E 
ain't  complained  ?  'E  lef '  the  lot  at  the  side  of  'is  plate  last 
time,  and  if  that  ain't  complainin'  I  dono  what  is.  Now 
you  get  it  on  at  once  and  let's  hear  no  more  chat.  Seems  to 
me  you  ain't  good  for  anything,  'cep  that  bein'  so  deaf  you 
can't  gossip.  Women,"  added  Simpson,  knocking  out  his 
pipe  against  his  boot,  "  they're  the  devil !  " 

After  some  preliminary  "  taxi-ing  "  on  the  ground,  Denis 
rose,  circling  over  the  marshes.  The  country  was  asleep; 
pillars  of  smoke  rose  from  cottage  chimneys,  but  not  a  soul 
was  abroad  except  the  milkman,  with  his  rattling  silver  cans, 


WHEN  THE  HEART  SUFFERS  A  BLOW     155 

and  a  solitary  cyclist,  spinning  down  the  road  towards  Dent- 
de-lion.  The  cyclist  waved  a  greeting;  the  blase  milkman 
did  not  so  much  as  glance  up.  Denis  sailed  over  them,  over 
the  roof  of  his  house,  turned  into  the  wind,  "  flattened  out " 
(i.e.  brought  level  the  nose  of  his  machine,  which  had  been 
gliding  down  a  slant)  and  grounded  on  the  turf  without  a 
jar.  The  brake  acted  perfectly.  Simpson  ran  up,  almost 
enthusiastic.  He  and  Denis  stood  together  talking  shop 
(which  was  the  sum  of  Simpson's  talk)  with  zeal  (Simpson 
supplying  the  zeal). 

"  Hi !  " 

Denis  turned,  screwing  up  his  short-sighted  eyes.  At 
sight  of  the  approaching  figure  his  jaw  dropped;  he  spoke 
one  curt  imperious  sentence  over  his  shoulder  to  Simpson, 
seized  the  new-comer's  arm,  dragged  him  back  to  the  house, 
thrust  him  into  the  parlor  and  locked  the  door  upon  him,  all 
without  a  word.  Gardiner  was  left  gasping.  Here  was  a 
reception !  But  in  a  minute  Denis  was  back,  pushing  open 
the  door  with  a  tray  of  breakfast  crockery  and  the  inevitable 
sausages.  He  deposited  his  burden  on  the  table,  which  was 
already  laid,  and  turned  to  lock  the  door  again. 

"  What  on  earth  possessed  you  to  come  here  ?  I've  shut 
up  Simpson,  and  he'll  hold  his  tongue,  but  I'd  not  answer 
for  Miss  Simpson,  if  she  saw  you.  You  must  be  mad !  " 

"  Mad  ?  —  to  come  here  ?  I'm  not  running  from  the  police, 
my  good  Denis ;  did  you  think  I  was?  " 

"  I  understood  your  brother  to  say — " 

"  Oh,  you've  heard  from  Tom,  have  you  ? "  Gardiner's 
tone  was  a  shade  less  confident.  "  Yes,  I  admit  I  did  do  a 
bunk  from  Woodlands;  they  took  me  by  surprise,  and  I 
wasn't  ready  for  'em ;  I  had  two-three  things  to  finish  off  — 
among  others,  I  wanted  a  word  with  you.  Which  is  why 
I'm  here.  But  as  soon  as  I've  swallowed  the  sausage  which 
I  trust  you're  going  to  offer  me  I'm  off  to  Margate  to  sur- 
render to  the  minions  of  the  law." 

"  I  thought  you  couldn't  stand  prison,"  said  Denis.  "  I 
thought  it  was  the  one  risk  you  weren't  prepared  to  face. 
However,  it's  no  business  of  mine.  If  you  can  face  it,  I 


156  CONVICT  B14 

certainly  think  you're  wise  to.  Mustard?  Oh,  I  forgot,  you 
don't  take  it,  do  you?" 

He  poured  out  a  cup  of  Miss  Simpson's  rich,  muddy 
coffee  for  Gardiner  and  another  for  himself,  but  he  did  not 
drink;  he  went  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  down  the 
road.  Gardiner,  who  was  famished,  drew  up  his  chair;  but 
his  eyes  kept  straying  to  that  silent  figure.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  wind  that  he  did  not  like.  Denis  was  utterly 
unlike  himself,  unlike  any  self  his  friend  had  ever  had  a 
glimpse  of.  He  was  so  unapproachable  that  Gardiner  knew 
not  how  to  broach  the  errand  that  had  brought  him  there. 
Presently,  however,  he  turned  to  attend  to  Geraldine,  who 
was  winding  round  his  boots  and  opening  her  little  pink 
mouth  in  soundless  mews  of  ecstasy.  As  he  rose  from  put- 
ting down  the  saucer,  he  caught  Gardiner's  eye,  and  smiled 
faintly. 

"  Sorry,  Harry.  'Fraid  I've  rather  let  you  down  over  this 
business.  Anybiddy  else  would  have  made  a  better  hand  at 
it.  But  I'm  not  much  good  at  dissembling,  and  tell  a  lie 
I  cann't  —  any  babe  could  see  through  it.  Else  I'd  have 
done  my  best." 

"  My  dear  chap,  I  don't  want  you  to  tell  lies  for  me !  " 
said  Gardiner  hastily.  He  was  more  than  surprised ;  he  was 
appalled.  "  In  point  of  fact,  I'm  not  sorry  it  has  come  out. 
I've  had  no  peace  of  my  life  these  last  two  months,  with  Mrs. 
Trent  going  about  like  an  unexploded  bomb.  I  knew  she'd 
never  rest  till  she  harried  me  into  the  dock."  He  perceived, 
as  he  spoke,  a  certain  change  in  the  atmosphere.  Denis  had 
been  sufficiently  far  away  before;  now  he  seemed  to  recede 
to  the  North  Pole.  There  was  a  snapshot  of  Dorothea  in 
her  flying  kit  on  the  mantelpiece.  Was  this  the  explanation  ? 
Surely  not !  Surely  she  was  the  last  woman  in  the  world  to 
attract  a  man  like  Denis !  Gardiner,  be  it  remembered,  had 
never  met  that  eager  child  who  had  learned  to  fly.  "  It's 
about  her  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  broke  the  ice  deter- 
minedly. "  Here's  the  point.  Do  you,  or  do  you  not,  re- 
member what  Trent  said  in  that  last  speech  of  his,  just  before 
I  let  fly  at  him?" 


WHEN  THE  HEART  SUFFERS  A  BLOW     157 

"  I'm  hardly  likely  to  forget  it." 

"  No,  no,  not  the  sense,  the  words ;  the  actual  phrasing  he 
used.  Do  you  remember  that  ?  " 

He  took  a  moment  to  think.  "  Perhaps  not.  No,  not  to 
swear  to." 

"  Good  !  Then  it's  all  plain  sailing.  Tell  everything  that 
happened  up  till  then ;  be  as  discursive  as  you  please  about 
my  share  in  the  business ;  but  say,  and  swear,  and  stick  to  it 
that  you  can't  remember  that  last  speech,  and  at  any  price 
don't  let  it  be  dragged  out  of  you." 

"  Very  well." 

"  At  any  price,  you  understand  ?  " 

"  At  any  price  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  absolutely  without  reserve,  at  any  price." 

"  I  understand." 

"  That's  off  my  mind,  then,"  said  Gardiner  with  a  breath 
of  relief.  "  I  had  to  see  you,  to  make  sure  we  should  both 
be  in  the  same  tale.  Now  I'll  be  off  to  Margate  while  the 
iron's  hot." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Denis,  detaining  him.  "  Before 
you  go  into  this  quixotic  business  I  think  you  ought  to  see 
what  it  means.  Of  course  I  know  you've  been  making  light 
of  it  to  spare  my  feelings,  but  I  don't  believe  you  yourself 
realize  what  it  is  you're  up  against.  It's  serious.  I'm  afraid 
they're  going  to  make  it  a  perjury  charge.  I  had  the  police 
up  here  for  hours  yesterday  —  they  wanted  to  run  me  in 
too  — " 

"  You  ?  Oh,  my  God,  Denis !  They're  not  going  to  do 
that?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.     What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  that,"  said  Gardiner,  holding  his  head 
in  his  hands.  "  I  swear  I  never  dreamed  there  was  the 
remotest  possibility  of  that !  To  drag  you,  of  all  men,  into 
this  filthy  mess — "  He  dropped  his  hands  and  looked  up, 
speaking  fast  and  free :  "  Of  course  you're  right.  I  have 
been  humbugging.  I  know  I'm  in  for  a  stiff  sentence.  I'd 
ever  thought  of  perjury  as  a  possible  charge.  But  I  give 
you  my  word,  Denis,  if  I'd  ever  had  the  faintest  idea  there 


158  CONVICT  B14. 

was  the  faintest  risk  of  involving  you,  I'd  have  —  I'd  have 
blown  my  brains  out  first.  Oh,  Lettice  was  right ;  it  is  a 
fatal  thing  to  be  a  coward." 

"  Lettice  ? " 

"  I  went  to  her  on  my  way.  Yes,  I  did  mean  to  bolt  in 
the  first  instance ;  I've  got  my  rig-out  strapped  on  my  bike 
at  this  instant.  It  was  she  stopped  me.  She  does  know 
how  to  sting  up  your  conscience !  But  they  can't  really  drag 
you  in,  Denis,  can  they?  You  never  did  actually  say  one 
syllable  beyond  the  truth.  Did  you  make  them  see  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Denis.  "  I  don't  think  they'll  take  it 
any  further.  And  if  they  did,  they  couldn't  convict.  It's 
all  right.  I  don't  know  what  you're  putting  yourself  about 
for." 

"Perjury,  Denis?     It's  not  a  pretty  charge." 

"  No,"  said  Denis.  "  Still,  I  don't  know  that  it  much 
matters." 

How  quietly  he  spoke !  At  Grasmere  he  had  shrunk 
from  the  slightest  innocent  contact  with  the  story;  but  here 
was  the  stain  black  on  his  own  honor,  and  it  moved  him  no 
more  than  did  his  friend's  remorse.  Gardiner  had  once  said 
it  would  go  hard  with  Denis  if  his  idols  tumbled  off  their 
pedestals.  This  indifference  was  worse  than  his  worst  fears. 
Would  he  ever  find  his  way  back  ?  Or  was  there  some  hid- 
den mischief,  some  deadly  internal  injury  at  which  Gardiner 
could  only  guess  ?  What  had  Dorothea  done  —  what  had 
she  killed  when  she  struck  her  blow?  There  grew  on  the 
young  man,  watching,  a  sense  of  disaster.  .  .  . 

Denis  had  drifted  back  to  the  window  and  stood  there, 
absently  whistling  his  one  tune : 

"  C'est  difficile  de  voir  voler  Orville ; 

C'est  bien  plus  dur  de  voir  voler  Wilbur — " 

Suddenly  he  broke  off  and  bent  forward  in  quick  attention. 

"  Anything  up  ?  "  said  Gardiner. 

Denis  wheeled  and  swiftly  pushed  him  back  from  the 
window. 

"  The  police." 


WHEN  THE  HEART  SUFFERS  A  BLOW     159 

"  What,  have  they  come  to  pump  you  again  ?  " 

"  No,  it's  you  they're  after." 

"  Nonsense,  man !    How  can  they  know  I'm  here  ?  " 

"  Evans  has  told  them." 

"Who's  Evans?" 

"  The  man  who  brings  the  milk.  He  was  at  the  door  when 
you  arrived.  He's  coming  up  the  road  with  them  now." 

"  But  how  the  deuce  should  Evans  — " 

"  Your  description's  out,  and  a  reward.  Five  hundred 
pounds.  He  must  have  gone  straight  off  to  the  police 
station." 

"  Five  hundred  pounds !  "  Gardiner  was  as  white  as  his 
shirt.  "  Who  offered  it  ?  " 

Denis  would  not  answer  or  look  at  him.  There  was  no 
need ;  Gardiner  knew  well  enough  who  had  offered  it,  and 
the  shock  made  him  sick.  Did  she  indeed  hate  him  so  much 
as  all  that? 

"  Well,  they'll  save  me  the  trouble  of  going  to  Margate," 
he  said  as  lightly  as  he  could,  and  moved  towards  the  door. 
Denis  stopped  him. 

"Wait.  Think.  If  you're  taken  now,  like  this,  you'll 
not  be  allowed  bail.  You'll  be  in  prison  till  the  February 
Assizes." 

" —  Break  me  in  by  degrees !  "  said  Gardiner  in  a  sort  of 
gasp,  still  pressing  towards  the  door.  Denis  still  held  him 
back. 

"Will  you  cut  it?" 

"  How  can  I  ?  " 

"  Quite  simple.  The  monoplane's  out  at  the  back  —  I  told 
Simpson  to  have  her  ready.  He'll  swear  anything  I  like  to 
tell  him,  and  Miss  Simpson  never  saw  you  at  all.  You've 
only  to  say  the  word,  and  I'll  set  you  down  in  France  within 
the  hour." 

"  You,  Denis?    You  advise  me  to  run?  " 

"Why  not?"  said  Denis.  "I  think  the  point-of-honor 
stunt  is  overdone.  It  doesn't  pay." 

Gardiner's  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  were  all  tumbling 
about  his  ears.  That  Denis  should  advise  such  a  thing!  It 


160  CONVICT  B14 

went  more  than  half-way  towards  making  it  seem  right.  It 
showed,  too,  that  he  dreaded  the  ordeal  of  the  witness-box, 
and  lent  a  specious  color  of  unselfishness  to  the  plan.  And 
in  those  last  moments  of  liberty  Gardiner,  like  the  prisoner 
of  the  Inquisition,  seemed  to  feel  the  flaming  walls  sliding 
together,  contracting,  closing  in  upon  his  life  to  drive  him 
into  the  pit.  ..."//  you're  afraid  of  a  thing " —  That 
voice  again !  There  was  the  touchstone. 

"  No,"  said  Gardiner.     *'  No,  I'm  damned  if  I  will!  " 
He  walked  out  and  threw  open  the  door  to  the  police. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
DU  PARTI  DU  GRAND  AIR 

The  thing  which  I  greatly  feared  is  come  upon  me,  and  that  which 
I  was  afraid  of  is  come  unto  me. —  BOOK  OF  JOB. 

TEN  days  later,  after  his  examination  before  the  Borough 
Bench  at  Westby,  Gardiner  was  committed  to  the  February 
Assizes  on  a  charge  of  manslaughter.  Bail  not  being  al- 
lowed, he  spent  the  intervening  months  in  Westby  Jail. 

Lettice,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  world  who  haven't 
been  to  prison,  knew  nothing  of  the  rules  and  regulations 
applying  to  a  prisoner  on  remand.  She  did  know,  however, 
that  in  English  law  a  man  is  held  to  be  innocent  until  he  has 
been  found  guilty ;  and  she  took  for  granted  that  any  one 
so  detained  would  be  treated  in-  a  liberal  way,  and  allowed 
every  possible  privilege  of  the  free  man  except  freedom. 
Accordingly,  she  wrote  to  Gardiner  at  Westby,  and,  getting 
no  reply,  wrote  again.  This  time  an  answer  came  through : 

MY  DEAR  Miss  SMITH, —  Your  letters  to  me  and  mine  to 
you  are  all  read  by  the  governor  of  this  home  of  joy.  In  the 
circumstances  I  would  rather  do  without.  Yours  very  truly, 

H.  C.  GARDINER. 

Lettice  did  not  love  injustice.  It  made  her  blood  boil. 
She  was  angrier  than  Gardiner  himself.  She  understood 
the  feeling  which  made  him  refuse  her  letters.  It  was  not 
a  mere  cutting  off  his  nose  to  spite  his  face ;  it  was  a  real 
idiosyncrasy  of  taste,  akin  to  that  which  spoiled  for  him  the 
"  set  piece  "  loveliness  of  Frahan.  What  he  disliked  there 
was  not  the  bodily  presence  of  the  tourists  —  he  would  have 
felt  just  the  same  under  the  midwinter  moon  —  but  the  taint 
161 


162  CONVICT  B14 

left  by  their  eyes,  which  spread  a  film  of  defilement  over  the 
whole  lovely  scene.  Even  so  the  Governor's  eyes  deflowered 
and  defiled  her  letters.  Absurd  and  fanciful,  no  doubt;  but 
it  was  just  those  streaks  of  the  fantastic  that  made  him  at- 
tractive to  Lettice. 

She  could  not  get  him  out  of  her  head.  What  must  it  be 
for  him,  with  his  anchorite  ways,  to  be  under  supervision, 
day  and  night,  through  the  accursed  little  spy-hole  in  the 
door  of  his  cell?  Lettice  knew  all  about  that  spy-hole  now. 
Since  receiving  his  letter  she  had  read  every  book  about 
prisons  that  the  Museum  could  supply.  Turning  over,  sift- 
ing, arranging  her  deductions,  she  had  reached  a  fairly  cor- 
rect estimate  of  his  state  of  mind. 

Denis  she  had  not  seen  since  they  parted  at  Rochehaut. 
Using  a  sort  of  defensive  frankness,  he  had  told  her  by 
letter  about  Dorothea's  sojourn  at  Bredon,  which  he  could 
do  quite  naturally  without  touching  on  their  personal  rela- 
tions. Lettice  tried  to  read  between  the  lines,  but  Denis  in 
those  months  had  traveled  too  far  for  her  to  follow,  at  least 
on  paper.  He  had  of  course  attended  to  give  evidence 
before  the  Borough  Bench;  he  had  seen  Gardiner  then,  and 
once  since.  "  I  wish  the  confounded  place  weren't  at  the 
other  end  of  the  earth,"  he  wrote.  "  I  can't  possibly  get  up 
there  again  at  present,  it's  not  fair  on  Wandesforde ;  he 
wants  the  seaplane  finished  for  the  Olympia  show,  and  it'll 
take  me  every  minute  of  my  time.  Mr.  Gardiner  was  up  in 
November,  but  now  I  hear  he's  sick ;  and  Tom,  the  brother, 
is  stationed  at  Queenstown,  so  he's  no  good.  Which  means 
that  Harry's  seen  no  one  for  a  month.  I  don't  like  it.  It's 
too  long.  I'm  rather  badly  worried  about  him."  And,  as 
an  afterthought,  written  across  the  top :  "  Why  don't  you 
run  down  there  yourself?  I  wish  you  would." 

That  letter  came  to  Lettice  on  a  day  of  December  fog, 
which  had  found  its  way  into  the  Museum.  Overhead  in  a 
smelly  haze  the  arc  lamps  waxed  and  dwindled,  milky 
moons,  each  with  its  pin-point  core  of  white  incandescence ; 
and  on  all  sides  tremendous  sneezes  went  resounding  like 
minute  guns  round  the  dome.  Any  regular  attendant  of  the 


DU  PARTI  DU  GRAND  AIR  163 

reading-room  may  become  a  connoisseur  in  sneezes.  Lettice 
herself  sneezed  at  times,  a  minute  one-syllable  explosion  like 
a  kitten's.  She  was  always  a  slow  worker,  slow  but  ac- 
curate;  to-day  her  pen  moved  more  deliberately  than  ever. 
Then  it  stopped  and  she  sat  immobile,  staring  at  noth- 
ing. .  .  .  Explicit:  she  got  up:  within  five  minutes  she  had 
returned  her  books,  retrieved  her  umbrella  from  the  cloak- 
room, and  was  out  in  the  street.  She  caught  the  midnight 
express  from  Euston,  and  reached  Westby  at  eight  the  next 
morning. 

Visitors  were  not  admitted  to  the  prison  until  ten. 
Lettice  spent  her  time  of  waiting  in  a  church  near  by.  When 
the  hour  struck  she  was  at  the  gates,  which  were  set,  huge 
and  gloomy,  under  an  arch  in  the  outer  wall.  No  one  else 
was  waiting.  Lettice  tugged  at  the  bell  chain.  A  slip  door 
in  the  carriage  gate  was  opened  by  a  porter,  to  whom  she 
stated  her  errand.  She  was  handed  over  to  a  warder,  who 
led  her  across  a  court  laid  out  in  grass  and  flower-beds  to  the 
second  gate,  in  a  wall  thirty  feet  high.  Beyond  this  was  a 
vestibule  closed  by  an  iron  grille  —  the  third  gate;  beyond, 
again,  the  central  hall  of  the  prison. 

Wards  radiated  from  it  in  all  directions  like  the  spokes 
of  a  wheel ;  each  a  long  rectangle  lined  with  cells,  tier  above 
tier,  regular  as  a  honeycomb,  all  the  way  up  to  the  roof. 
Across  the  central  well  a  light  iron  staircase  zigzagged 
from  story  to  story.  The  walls  were  gray,  the  woodwork 
tan-brown,  the  floor  of  concrete :  all  was  clean,  commonplace, 
tragic.  At  each  landing  a  stout  wire-netting  inclosed  the 
staircase.  Lettice's  guide  pointed  it  out.  "  See  that,  miss  ? 
That's  to  prevent  'em  throwing  themselves  over.  They  zvill 
do  it,  if  you  give  'em  the  chance.  We'd  a  man  here  last  year 
as  threw  himself  down  from  that  top  landing  up  there. 
Cracked  his  skull  he  did,  and  cracked  the  paving-stone  too, 
that's  more !  He  was  in  hospital  for  a  bit,  but  he  got  over 
it,  and  took  his  discharge ;  and  if  you'll  believe  me,  miss,  six 
months  after  we'd  got  him  back  for  something  else." 

The  remand  cells  were  not  in  this  part  of  the  prison. 
Lettice  was  taken  to  a  waiting-room  to  get  the  necessary 


164  CONVICT  B14 

permit,  and  then  led  on  through  many  corridors.  She  caught 
glimpses  of  cells  as  she  passed,  and  saw  prisoners,  in  their 
ugly  drab  uniforms,  sweeping  and  scrubbing  the  floors. 
They  stared  at  her  with  avid,  furtive  curiosity  which  made 
her  feel  half  ashamed  of  her  freedom.  She  saw  Gardiner 
in  those  debased  figures,  cringing  out  of  the  way  at  the 
officer's  curt  word  of  command.  "  Here  you  are,  miss !  " 
said  he  at  last,  briskly  unlocking  one  of  those  innumerable 
doors :  and  Lettice  passed  in. 

She  saw  a  cell  like  any  of  the  others  and  a  figure  sitting 
under  the  window  reading.  The  book  went  down  on  the 
floor,  anyhow  and  anywhere,  as  he  started  to  his  feet. 

"Lettice!" 

Till  that  moment  Lettice  had  been  doubtful  of  her  mis- 
sion ;  after  it  she  doubted  no  more.  She  stood,  letting  him 
hold  her  hands ;  she  did  not  speak ;  she  could  not  have  found 
words,  if  she  had  tried,  for  the  contraction  of  her  throat. 
Gardiner  was  clutching  her  like  a  drowning  man.  Dim 
shades  of  feeling  passed  across  his  face,  like  wind  over  a 
corn-field.  He  was  yellow  as  a  lemon  and  bony  as  a  casta- 
way, but  the  worst  was  to  see  him  so  near  to  losing  control. 
For  a  moment  Lettice  was  afraid  he  would  break  down  alto- 
gether. But  with  a  mighty  effort  he  pulled  round,  released 
her  hands  and  began  to  talk  almost  in  a  natural  way. 

"  Well,  this  is  most  fearfully  noble  of  you !  How  in  the 
world  did  you  find  your  way  here  ?  You  surely  didn't  come 
up  on  purpose  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  would  like  to  see  what  a  prison  is  like," 
explained  Lettice  in  her  delicate,  deliberate  way.  She  sat 
down  on  the  chair  he  offered  and  looked  round  his  domain. 
Gardiner  rented  a  "  private  room  "  about  eight  feet  square, 
lighted  by  a  strip  of  ground  glass,  which  was  set  immediately 
under  the  ceiling,  well  out  of  reach.  An  iron  spring  bedstead 
was  reared  against  the  wall.  The  mattress  and  striped 
blanket,  neatly  buttoned  into  a  roll,  were  stowed  under  a 
bracket  in  the  corner.  This  bracket  held  books ;  a  second, 
in  the  corresponding  corner  opposite,  had  a  tin  mug  and 
plate.  The  jug  and  basin,  also  of  tin,  stood  on  the  floor. 


DU  PARTI  DU  GRAND  AIR  165 

Lcttice  had  the  only  chair,  and  Gardiner  might  sit  on  his 
thumbs.  There  was  no  other  furniture. 

"  I  haven't  seen  a  soul  for  months,"  he  said,  contemplating 
her  with  admiring  gratitude.  "  Denis  has  been  inseparably 
wedded  to  that  darned  aeroplane  of  his,  and  my  daddy's 
in  bed,  bless  his  heart.  You  don't  know  how  one  gets  to 
pine  after  somebody  from  outside.  It's  a  piece  of  luck,  too, 
having  it  to  ourselves  like  this.  I  had  to  interview  Denis 
in  the  visitors'  room,  under  the  eye  of  a  warder.  But  when 
my  daddy  came  to  see  me  he  raked  up  such  an  appalling 
amount  of  dust  that  ever  since,  as  a  special  concession,  I've 
been  allowed  to  see  visitors  here.  My  daddy  is  rather 
talented  at  raking  up  a  dust.  I  can  do  it,  too,  but  not  so 
tactfully  as  he  does.  The  Governor  simply  loves  daddy,  but 
with  me  he's  at  daggers  drawn.  Are  you  looking  at  my 
choice  of  literature?  Tom  keeps  me  supplied,  but  it's  no 
good  sending  anything  but  sixpennies,  because  I  have  to 
leave  'em  all  behind  when  I  go,  for  the  benefit  of  the  prison 
library.  Vingt  Ans  Apres  — jolly  tale,  isn't  it?  I  always 
have  agreed  with  Rochefort  —  je  ne  suis  que  d'un  parti, 
c'est  du  parti  du  grand  air !  " 

Lettice  put  down  the  book  —  quite  quickly.  "  And  what 
do  you  do  all  day  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  do  I  do  ?  Would  you  like  a  time-table  ?  I  get 
up  about  five,  have  breakfast,  then  tidy  my  room.  Chapel's 
at  seven ;  visitors  between  ten  and  twelve ;  exercise  between 
eleven  and  twelve,  if  it's  fine  —  if  it's  wet  I  don't  get  any. 
That's  about  the  worst  part  of  this  place.  I  told  the  Gov- 
ernor one  day  it  would  do  me  less  harm  to  get  soaked  out- 
side than  to  dry-rot  in  here,  but  he  wouldn't  see  it.  A  rule 
is  a  rule.  Silly  business,  what?" 

"  But  what  do  you  do?     Don't  you  go  out  to  work?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  laughing.  "I'm  still  innocent.  '. 
don't  mix  with  the  convicted  prisoners.  I  should  be  allowed 
to  work  at  my  own  trade  in  my  cell,  if  they  had  the  neces- 
sary tools;  but  I'm  afraid  they're  not  likely  to  import  a 
hotel  to  be  run.  I've  sewn  mail-bags  from  time  to  time, 
when  I  got  very  bored." 


166  CONVICT  B14 

"  Then  do  you  mean  to  say  you're  in  this,  this,  this  — 
this  horrid  little  hole  of  a  place  the  whole  day  long  when 
it's  raining,  and  all  except  one  hour  when  it  isn't  ?  " 

He  laughed  again.  "  Lettice,  what  a  first-class  rebel  you'd 
make !  I  never  knew  any  one  sit  down  more  uncomfortably 
under  what  you  think  injustice  than  you  do  !  " 

To  that  Lettice  said  nothing ;  she  never  would  talk  about 
herself.  "  And  does  nobody  come  to  see  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  To  be  sure  they  do.  The  chaplain's  perseveringly 
chatty ;  he's  another  who  fell  a  victim  to  my  daddy.  The 
doctor's  been  once  —  and  that  was  really  rather  funny. 
You  know,  by  a  most  odd  coincidence,  he  was  actually  at 
the  Easedale  at  the  time  of  the  row  —  was  called  to  view 
the  body  and  gave  evidence  at  the  inquest.  Of  course  it's  not 
etiquette  for  him  to  remember  that  now,  and  you  may  bet 
he  doesn't!  Only  we  look  at  each  other  with  what  you 
might  call  an  eye.  I'm  not  his  regular  patient  yet,  but  I 
shall  be  when  I'm  convicted." 

"  You  think  you  will  be  convicted  ?  " 

"  Sure  of  it.  So  is  my  lawyer ;  I  made  him  practically 
own  it  last  time  he  was  here.  He  wouldn't  say  how  long 
I  shall  get,  though  —  I  suppose  it's  impossible  to  forecast. 
Three  days,  or  three  months,  or  three  years,  cither's  on 
the  cards.  It's  a  thoroughly  sentimental  case,  and  I've  no 
doubt  Mrs.  Trent  will  appeal  strongly  to  the  sensibilities  of 
the  jury.  But  the  law  isn't  sentimental,  praise  the  pigs ! " 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  exactly  what  happened  at 
Grasmere." 

"  Why,  I  did,  didn't  I  ?  Trent  came  down  spoiling  for  a 
fight,  and  I  set  out  to  tame  his  savage  breast.  I  soon  had 
him  drinking  out  of  my  hand,  and  then  he  began  to  be  confi- 
dential. I  stood  it  as  long  as  I  could,  Denis  simmering 
like  a  kettle  in  the  background,  and  then  I  up  and  shied  the 
first  thing  that  came  to. hand  at  his  head.  You  read  the 
report  of  the  inquest,  didn't  you?  It  was  all  there,  bar  that 
last  exchange  of  courtesies.  I  believe  I  called  him  a  filthy 
swine." 

-Why?" 


DU  PARTI  DU  GRAND  AIR  167 

"  Because  he  was  one,  to  be  sure." 

"  What  had  he  been  saying?  " 

"  Really,  do  you  think  that's  a  nice  question  for  a  voune 
lady?" 

"  I  was  only  thinking  it  might  have  been  something  inex- 
cusably bad." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  If  he  had  been  talking  about  Mrs.  Trent." 

She  took  Gardiner's  breath  away.  "  Well,  you  certainly 
have  an  imagination !  "  he  said.  "  Don't  go  making  sugges- 
tions of  that  kind  to  any  one  else,  I  beg !  " 

"  It  would  have  meant  your  getting  off." 

"  It  would  have  been  the  deuce  and  all  for  Mrs.  Trent." 

To  that  again  Lettice  answered  nothing,  but  her  under 
lip  hardened  slightly.  She  glanced  at  her  watch.  Five 
minutes  more.  Looking  up,  she  met  Gardiner's  eyes  fixed 
on  her  in  urgent  and  unmistakable  appeal.  For  a  moment 
Lettice  quailed.  She  saw  something  very  big,  very  grave 
approaching,  and  she  wanted  ignominiously  to  run  away. 
In  all  her  generous  giving  there  was  always  a  reserve,  a 
barrier  of  privacy,  the  fenced  garden  and  the  fountain  sealed 
where  she  walked  alone.  But  if  he  wanted  to  come  in  there 
for  sanctuary  —  well,  he  must,  it  was  no  good,  she  could  not 
deny  him :  this  was  not  the  time  to  think  of  herself. 

"  Lettice,"  he  began  —  and  for  the  first  time  she  noticed 
his  use  of  her  name  — "  Lettice,  there's  one  thing  I  want  to 
tell  you.  You  think  I  was  caught  red-handed  in  the  act  of 
bolting.  It  wasn't  so.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go  back 
and  give  myself  up.  I  was  just  off  to  do  it  when  they 
arrested  me.  And  I  want  you  to  know  that  it  was  all  you  — 
what  you  had  said  in  town.  I  couldn't  go  on  with  it  after 
that." 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Lettice. 

"  I'm  glad  too,"  said  Gardiner,  his  voice  shaking,  "  partly, 
at  any  rate.  I  should  be  altogether  glad  if  I  were  sure 
about  the  future." 

"The  future?" 

"  If  I'm  convicted.     If  I  get  a  long  sentence.     If  I  have 


168  CONVICT  B14 

to  stand  much  more  of  this  —  Lattice !  I  can't  humbug  you. 
I've  told  Denis  a  stack  of  lies  as  high  as  a  house,  of  which 
he  may  or  may  not  believe  one-third.  I  can't  let  him  see  the 
truth,  because  it's  his  evidence  that's  going  to  convict  me. 
He  has  enough  on  his  shoulders  without  that,  poor  old  chap. 
But  you  —  I  don't  care  how  much  you  know.  And  I  want 
your  help.  I'm  afraid." 

She  looked  at  him,  questioning. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  he  repeated  under  his  breath,  lower  than  a 
whisper.  The  perspiration  started  on  his  forehead.  "  I'm 
not  like  Denis,  you  know.  He's  Ai  quality,  sound  all 
through  —  if  he  wanted  to  go  wrong  I  believe  he  wouldn't 
know  the  way!  But  I'm  different.  I'm  second-rate.  I 
ought  not  to  be,  being  the  son  of  my  daddy,  but  I  haven't 
kept  up  to  his  standard.  He  doesn't  see  it,  bless  his  heart ; 
but  you  do,  and  Denis  does,  though  he  tries  to  blind  his  eyes, 
and  even  Tom  —  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  can't  help  feeling 
that  his  brother  is  a  bit  of  a  bounder.  Oh  yes,  I  always 
know  when  I  grate  on  people.  I  see  my  own  shortcomings 
plainer  than  any  of  you.  I'm  second-rate  in  manners,  and 
in  morals,  and  in  essential  stuff."  He  looked  straight  at 
her,  and  though  Lettice  could  have  contradicted  him,  she  did 
not ;  for  she  saw  what  he  meant,  and  was  not  afraid  to  admit 
to  herself  that  there  was  a  measure  of  truth  in  his  self-con- 
demnation. "  Thanks,"  said  Gardiner,  with  a  fleeting  smile, 
bending  his  head  in  acknowledgment  of  her  honesty. 
"  That's  me,  and  I  never  forget  it.  I  wanted  to  put  you  wise 
before  I  went  on  to  what  I  have  to  say.  I  can  just  stand 
this  now  because  it's  not  final.  I  still  hope  to  get  out  in 
February,  though  I  may  swear  I  don't.  I  daren't  leave  off 
hoping  it.  I'm  holding  on  to  that.  But  if  —  if  it  isn't  — 
If  I  get  a  long  sentence  —  years,  perhaps  —  I'm  afraid, 
Lettice.  I  —  I  —  I'm  afraid  of  myself.  ...  So  may  I  hold 
on  to  you  ?  May  I  tell  myself  that  I  can  come  to  you  when 
it's  over  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lettice. 

Against  the  drag  of  his  urgent  need  she  stood  like  a  rock 
in  flood-time.  It  was  not  merely  love  that  drew  them  to- 


DU  PARTI  DU  GRAND  AIR  169 

gether;  for  lovers,  even  devoted  lovers,  may  part  without 
injury  to  their  characters;  sometimes,  indeed,  to  their  own 
ultimate  gain.  But  these  two  could  not  have  parted  without 
grave  loss  and  damage,  especially  to  Gardiner.  Yes,  and  to 
Lettice  also ;  for  he  called  out  faculties  which  but  for  him 
would  have  slept  for  ever  in  comfortable  laziness.  Instinct 
drove  them  together,  as  two  drops  of  water  are  driven  to 
coalesce.  He  had  her  hands  again  in  a  desperate  clutch ;  for 
a  moment  he  rested  his  forehead  on  them. 

"  Time's  up,  miss,"  said  the  warder  at  the  door. 

Lettice  freed  herself  without  haste  or  embarrassment. 

"  Till  February,  then,"  said  she. 

"  You're  surely  not  coming  up  to  the  trial  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  said  Lettice. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ROUGH  JUSTICE 

A  true  witness  delivereth  souls. —  PROVERBS. 

LATE  in  February  a  blizzard  swept  over  the  north ;  it  was 
followed  by  still,  intense,  stringent  cold.  By  night  the 
fogs  were  dense ;  by  day  the  white  world  glittered  in  sun- 
shine. Trees  of  snow-blossom  and  iron  filigree  raised  their 
heads,  as  white  as  plumes,  against  a  china-blue  sky.  Posts, 
hedges,  buildings,  snow-hooded  and  sparkling,  rising  out  of 
pearly  frost-haze,  threw  azure  shadows  on  the  softly  rippled 
velvet  of  the  drift.  Country  lanes  were  buried  many  feet 
deep,  but  a  passage  had  been  carved  down  the  Westby  road ; 
the  slow  carts,  lumbering  in  to  market,  crunched  their  way 
between  tall,  strange,  silvery  and  chalky-white  cliffs,  like  the 
sugar  icing  on  a  bridecake,  along  tracks  made  golden  with 
the  scattered  sand.  The  sun  found  rainbows  in  the  icicles 
and  diamonds  in  the  snow,  but  it  did  not  melt  them ;  and  at 
night,  under  the  sweet  influences  of  the  Pleiades  and  the 
jeweled  bands  of  Orion,  the  frost  struck  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  earth,  the  ice  grew  thicker  and  thicker  on  the  steely 
lakes. 

In  spite  of  the  weather,  Westby  was  full.  Not  only  was 
it  market-day,  but  the  Assizes  were  on,  with  a  sensational 
case.  .Everybody  knew  that  the  late  owner  of  the  Easedale 
Hotel  was  to  be  tried  for  killing  one  of  his  own  guests.  The 
celebrated  Hancock,  K.C.,  had  been  retained  for  the  Crown ; 
and  Bullard,  for  the  defense,  was  only  less  popular.  More- 
over, the  case  was  to  be  tried  before  Mr.  Justice  Beckwith, 
who  was  said  to  be  dead  nuts  on  crimes  of  violence.  Blue 
look-out  for  the  prisoner,  every  one  agreed.  The  court  was 
crowded,  stuffy,  and  bitterly  cold.  Mr.  Gardiner,  a  valorous 
170 


ROUGH  JUSTICE  171 

and  pathetic  little  figure,  shivered  and  coughed  under  his 
rusty  Inverness.  Tom  was  doing  his  best  to  keep  him 
covered  up ;  but  as  often  as  he  tucked  the  capes  round  his 
father's  shoulders,  that  perverse  and  petulant  invalid  tossed 
them  back.  "  I  can't  listen  stuffed  up  like  that !  "  he  com- 
plained. 

Tom  was  gloomy.  This  was  the  second  day  of  the  trial ; 
he  had  heard  Hancock  open  for  the  Crown,  he  had  listened 
to  the  evidence  of  the  police,  Dr.  Scott,  Miss  Marvin, 
Louisa;  and  he  felt  it  was  all  up  with  his  brother.  What 
was  more,  he  knew  that  Kellett  the  lawyer  thought  so  too. 
"  It's  unlucky,  most  unlucky,  that  Mr.  Gardiner  can't  re- 
member Major  Trent's  actual  words,"  was  all  he  would  say 
when  they  discussed  it ;  and  he  pulled  a  very  long  face  on 
hearing  the  name  of  the  judge.  "Beckwith?  Well,  he 
hasn't  a  reputation  for  leniency,  certainly !  "  Tom  was  fully 
expecting  penal  servitude.  He  saw  no  ray  of  hope.  Unless, 
by  any  wild  chance  —  there  were  those  unexpected  and 
seemingly  aimless  questions  which  Bullard  had  put  to  Miss 
Marvin,  questions  about  the  rooms  and  the  other  guests  — 
was  it  possible  that  they  had  a  hidden  meaning?  Had  some- 
thing fresh  turned  up  at  the  last  minute  ?  Had  Kellett  a  sur- 
prise up  his  sleeve?  No,  Tom  decided,  it  was  not  possible, 
it  was  absurd  to  imagine  it.  He  returned  to  his  gloom. 

As  to  the  prisoner,  he  had  summoned  just  enough  surface 
gayety  to  take  in  the  reporters  and  his  father,  whose  eyes 
were  dim ;  but  beneath  it  he  looked  sick,  and  sorry,  and  des- 
perately tired.  Heavy  lines  were  drawn  to  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  and  his  jaw-bone  stuck  out,  gaunt  and  ugly,  from 
hollows  under  the  ear  where  his  neck  was  corded  like  an  old 
man's.  Tom  could  see  his  throat  swelling  with  suppressed 
yawns ;  but  he  woke  up  at  any  stir  among  the  spectators. 
Again  and  again  his  eyes  went  questing  eagerly  round  the 
benches.  What  was  he  looking  for?  Tom  had  no  idea. 
He  had  never  heard  of  Lettice  Smith. 

"  Who's  that  ?     Who  is  it  going  into  the  box  now,  Tom?  " 

"  That's  Mrs.  Trent,  sir." 

General    thrill    in    court.     Dorothea    had    resumed    her 


172  CONVICT  B14 

widow's  weeds  together  with  her  married  name ;  and  very 
young  she  looked,  and  fair,  and  pathetic,  under  the  flowing 
veil.  From  Hancock's  point  of  view,  this  was  as  it  should 
be.  It  would  take  a  deal  of  sentiment  to  make  her  past  pro- 
ceedings go  down  with  the  jury.  Perhaps  Dorothea  knew 
this.  Perhaps  she  was  playing  to  the  gallery.  Perhaps,  on 
the  other  hand,  she  was  only  playing  to  herself  —  acting 
what  she  knew  she  ought  to  feel,  in  order  to  persuade  her- 
self that  she  did  feel  it.  Dorothea  was  a  great  hand  at  be- 
lieving what  she  wanted  to.  However  that  might  be,  she 
was  undoubtedly  pathetic ;  and  with  her  romantic  story  fresh 
in  their  minds  from  Hancock's  opening  speech,  the  jury  were 
duly  impressed. 

She  struck  the  right  note  at  once.  "  My  husband  was  not 
intoxicated !  "  she  said  indignantly.  "  He  was  only  very, 
very  anxious  for  my  comfort !  "  Half-a-dozen  credible  wit- 
nesses had  sworn  that  Trent  was  intoxicated,  but  no  matter ; 
the  point  was  that,  after  nearly  a  year  of  marriage,  he 
appeared  as  still  a  hero  to  his  wife.  Next  came  Dorothea's 
own  part  in  the  drama.  She  described  the  scene :  the  lamp 
on  the  floor,  the  confusion  of  both  men,  Denis's  attempt  to 
keep  her  out,  Gardiner's  unconcealed  terror.  "  I  told  him 
he  had  murdered  my  husband,  and  he  didn't  deny  it.  He 
cowered  back  against  the  wall  with  his  arm  across  his  eyes, 
so,  but  he  never  attempted  to  deny  it !  "  She  told  how, 
kneeling  on  the  floor  beside  her  dead  husband,  she  had  come 
upon  the  chisel.  "  I  slipped  it  under  my  cloak.  No,  I  didn't 
mean  to  hide  it.  It  was  only  that  I  —  I  —  I  couldn't  speak 
just  then.  I  was  thinking  of  my  husband."  Was  it  art  that 
made  her  voice  fail,  or  nature ?  "I  don't  know  what  hap- 
pened next.  I  don't  remember  speaking  to  my  maid.  I 
don't  remember  anything.  I  think  I  fainted.  I  was  ill  after- 
wards. No,  I  didn't  accuse  the  prisoner  later  on  because  I 
knew  it  wouldn't  be  any  good.  I  was  sure  in  my  own  mind 
that  he  had  killed  my  husband,  but  I  had  no  proof.  I  knew 
people  would  say  it  was  just  my  fancy.  So  then  I  set  my- 
self to  get  proofs — " 

Because  he  knew  it  was  bound  to  come  out,  Hancock  took 


ROUGH  JUSTICE  173 

her  through  the  story  of  her  attempt  on  Gardiner.  That  gun 
must  be  surrendered  to  the  enemy,  but  he  would  see  that  it 
was  spiked  first.  Dorothea's  behavior  must  be  palliated  by 
showing  her  fanatical  devotion  to  her  husband.  No  need  to 
dwell  on  the  scene  at  the  crucifix,  what  Gardiner  himself 
called  the  shilling-shocker  part  of  the  affair.  Both  sides 
were  equally  anxious  to  leave  that  in  a  decent  obscurity. 
"  Yes,  I  did  pretend  to  be  friends  with  him,  and  I  did  ask 
him,  as  a  friend,  to  tell  me  the  truth,"  Dorothea  defiantly 
avowed.  "  Yes,  I  did  know  I  was  being  hateful,  and  mean, 
and  contemptible.  But  what  did  that  matter?  I  had  to  see 
justice  done !  "  Jael,  and  Judith,  and  Charlotte  Corday  — 
and  Dorothea  Trent?  Her  story  ended  in  a  storm  of  tears, 
which  broke,  strange  to  say,  after  she  had  done  with  Gardiner 
and  was  telling  of  her  sojourn  at  Dent-de-lion.  But  no  one 
in  court  dreamed  of  connecting  her  emotion  with  that  part 
of  her  tale. 

"  I'd  be  sorry  to  be  a  Broad  Churchman  and  not  believe  in 
hell,"  Mr.  Gardiner  commented  with  gusto.  "  Who's  this 
now,  Tom  ?  " 

"  That  ?     Oh,  that's  Merion-Smith  —  poor  beggar !  " 

Another  general  stir.  This  was  due  partly  to  Denis's 
profession  (for  airmen  weren't  so  common  in  the  Lakes  then 
as  they  have  since  become),  and  partly  to  his  dramatic  share 
in  the  story.  A  whisper  went  round,  which  was  the  well- 
informed  telling  the  ignorant  about  the  inquest.  Denis's 
chin  went  up  a  shade  higher.  He  had  set  his  back  against 
his  family  tree,  and  looked  down  arrogantly  through  his  eye- 
glass on  the  court  and  all  therein.  It  was  plain  he  meant  to 
give  trouble. 

The  beginning  ran  smoothly.  He  told  of  Trent's  intru- 
sion, bending  aside  the  questions  to  show  how  Gardiner  had 
gone  out  of  his  way  to  avoid  a  quarrel.  This  was  familiar 
ground ;  not  so  the  conversation  that  had  followed.  Counsel 
would  fain  have  passed  over  the  details  of  Trent's  discourse, 
but  Denis  intended  the  court  to  hear  as  much  as  he  could 
possibly  get  in.  Out  came  the  story  of  the  little  girl  at 
Chatham,  sounding  twice  as  bad  by  contrast  on  Denis's  lips. 


174  CONVICT  B14 

The  prisoner  grinned.  While  ostensibly  giving  his  evidence 
with  distaste  and  reluctance  (and  indeed  both  sentiments 
were  genuine  enough),  Denis  was  supplying  the  best,  the 
only  excuse  for  his  friend.  Vainly  did  his  questioner  try 
to  show  him  as  the  straight-laced  Puritan,  to  whom  the  mild- 
est of  jokes  is  an  offense.  Denis  would  not  fit  into  the 
part. 

"At  last,  when  we  had  stood  as  much  as  we  could,  the 
prisoner  suggested  it  was  gettin'  late.  Trent  made  a  joking 
answer.  What  he  said  was  grossly  offensive,  worse  than 
anything  before.  The  prisoner  caught  up  a  chisel  and  flung 
it  at  his  head.  No,  it  was  not  premeditated.  No,  there  had 
been  no  quarrel.  Simply,  the  man  was  saying  indecencies 
that  had  to  be  stopped,  and  the  prisoner  took  the  first  way 
of  stoppin'  them  —  and  if  he  hadn't,  I'd've  done  it  myself," 
Denis  put  in,  unasked.  "  No,  I  cann't  remember  what  it 
was  he  said — "  » 

Instantly  Hancock  pricked  up  his  ears.  "  You  don't  re- 
member what  Major  Trent  said  ?  " 

"  I  do  not.     Not  the  exact  words." 

"  Not  any  of  them  ?  " 

"  Not  to  swear  to." 

"Indeed!  Yet  you  could  tell  us  in  detail  all  about  his 
other  speeches  ?  " 

"  Not  so,"  Denis  corrected,  rather  stiff.  "  I  did  not  tell 
you  in  detail,  I  told  you  in  substance.  That  is  quite  another 
thing." 

"  With  considerable  fullness  and  fluency,  however,"  said 
his  questioner  dryly.  "  Well,  then :  you  remember  all  these 
other  stories,  so  far  as  you  do  remember  them,  but  you  have 
forgotten  every  single  word  of  this  —  which  you  say  was 
the  worst  of  all?  Can't  you  give  us  the  substance  of  that 
too?" 

"  It  was  not  a  story,"  said  Denis,  now  very  stiff  indeed, 
"  it  was  a  few  broken  sentences.  I  cann't  remember  them 
accurately,  and  I  won't  make  guesses.  I  dismissed  them 
from  memory  as  soon  as  I  could.  I  dou't  burden  my  mind 
with  pornographic  details." 


ROUGH  JUSTICE  175 

"  Quite  so ;  but  surely  without  infringing  either  truth  or 
decency  you  can  give  us  some  rough  idea  as  to  what  this 
mysterious  speech  was  about?  Was  it  about  a  woman,  for 
example  ? " 

Denis  remained  obstinately  silent. 

"Can't  remember  even  that?  Only  you  are  sure  it  was 
offensive  ?  " 

"  It  was  insufferable." 

The  barrister  leaned  forward  persuasively.  "  How  about 
this  for  a  suggestion?  I  put  it  to  you:  was  it  not  to  the 
prisoner  personally  that  the  deceased  was  offensive?  And 
did  not  the  prisoner  lose  his  temper,  and  retaliate  by  throw- 
ing the  chisel  ? " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  have  told  you  before :  there  was 
no  quarrel  of  any  kind.  The  deceased  was  laughing  up  to 
the  last  moment,  and  what  the  prisoner  did  was  done  in  the 
interests  of  decency.  It  was  impossible  to  sit  still  and 
listen  to  the  things  that  were  comin'  out  of  that  man's 
mouth." 

"  Come,  come,  Mr.  Smith !  As  a  man  of  the  world,  are 
you  going  to  ask  us  to  believe  that  the  prisoner  —  who,  I 
gather,  has  knocked  about  all  over  the  world,  in  countries 
which  aren't  precisely  like  a  Sunday  school  —  do  you  seri- 
ously expect  us  to  understand  that  he  was  so  much  upset 
by  an  ordinary  after-dinner  story  as  to  lose  all  self-control, 
and  endanger  his  liberty,  if  not  his  life?" 

"  I  do  not  expect  you  to  understand  anything,"  said  Denis, 
serenely  insolent.  "  I  was  addressin'  the  gentlemen  of  the 
jury." 

"Why  can't  he  speak  out?  What's  he  hiding?"  Mr. 
Gardiner  whispered  feverishly  to  Tom.  Tom  could  only 
shake  his  head  and  pull  his  mustache.  Certain  memories 
were  stirring  uncomfortably.  What  was  it  Harry  had  said 
about  having  his  hands  tied,  not  being  free  to  explain  ?  He 
had  never  given  it  another  thought  until  this  minute. 

Meanwhile  Denis,  already  convicted  of  tampering  with 
the  truth  on  behalf  of  his  friend  (for  every  one  believed  he 
had  suppressed  a  speech  that  told  against  the  prisoner),  was 


176  CONVICT  B14 

being  taken  through  the  rest  of  his  evidence.  Hancock  was 
trying  to  show  his  bias :  that  he  would  twist  the  truth  in 
Gardiner's  favor,  and  tell  only  the  minimum  against  him. 
In  this  topsy-turvy  business  Denis  was  virtually  on  the  side 
of  the  defense.  He  had  to  suffer  for  his  sympathies.  His 
self-respect  was  stripped  bare.  Yet  it  was  only  by  guess- 
work that  Gardiner  could  divine  his  feelings ;  the  harder 
Fate  hit  him,  the  stiffer  grew  his  back.  How  Gardiner 
envied  that  effortless  and  natural  control ! 

Hancock  finished,  and  counsel  for  the  defense  rose  to 
cross-examine.  Bullard,  K.C.,  was  a  long,  lank,  untidy 
figure,  and  had  a  hesitating,  negligent  way  of  speech.  He 
began  with  some  unimportant  minor  points  slurred  over  in 
the  examination-in-chief.  Then  came  a  pause,  during  which 
he  gazed  at  his  brief,  the  people  whispered,  and  the  prisoner 
yawned.  Then  a  bombshell. 

"  I  have  only  one  more  question  to  trouble  you  with,  Mr. 
Merion-Smith,"  he  said,  looking  up.  "  Did  the  deceased,  in 
that  last  speech  which  you  cannot  remember,  make  any  men- 
tion of  Mrs.  Trent?" 

Denis's  head  went  up  with  a  jerk.  A  thrill  went  round 
the  court,  but  was  instantly  stilled.  Bullard  was  repeating 
his  question  in  another  form. 

"  Did  not  the  prisoner  suggest  that  Mrs.  Trent  would  be 
tired ;  and  did  not  the  deceased  answer  by  a  coarse  allusion 
to  her  state  of  health  ?  " 

The  witness  was  seen  to  struggle  for  words  —  in  vain. 

"  Thank  you,  that  will  do." 

Upon  this  followed  the  luncheon  interval.  Through  the 
excited  crowd  Tom  carried  off  his  father  to  a  quiet  inn  near 
by,  where  he  had  ordered  lunch.  The  old  man  sat  over  the 
fire  with  his  basin  of  soup  (he  would  take  nothing  else,  and 
did  not  drink  that),  shrunken,  and  silent,  and  aged.  Once 
he  looked  up  piteously.  "  What  does  it  mean,  Tom  ?  What 
does  it  all  mean?"  Tom  could  only  answer:  "I've  no 
idea,  sir.  Shall  I  go  and  see  if  I  can  get  hold  of  Kellett?  " 
But  Mr.  Gardiner  shook  his  head  and  crouched  closer  to  the 
fire,  muttering :  "  No,  no.  Time  enough,  time  enough. 


ROUGH  JUSTICE  177 

We  shall  hear  it  all  presently."    Tom,  though  he  was  long- 
ing to  find  the  lawyer,  durst  not  leave  him. 

The  court  was  crowded  to  its  last  seat  when  they  reas- 
sembled, and  Bullard  opened  for  the  defense.  He  was  a 
clever  advocate ;  perhaps  a  little  too  clever.  He  was  apt  to 
hint  his  points  instead  of  making  them,  to  cut  and  refine  his 
phrases  like  some  fastidious  literary  artist.  This  is  not  the 
way  to  get  a  verdict  from  plain  men  accustomed  to  plain 
language,  clear  outlines,  the  black  and  white  of  fact.  They 
do  not  understand  half-tones  and  intellectual  subtleties.  On 
the  other  hand,  Bullard  had  a  reputation  for  incorruptible 
honesty ;  and  he  rose  at  times  to  eloquence. 

He  began,  in  his  negligent  way,  to  recapitulate  the  facts, 
a  touch  here  and  there  serving  to  rearrange  them  to  the 
prisoner's  advantage.  He  did  not,  he  said,  propose  to  deny 
that  his  client  had  thrown  the  tool;  but  he  submitted  that 
the  evidence  proved,  first,  that  the  death  of  the  deceased  was 
due  to  the  fall  and  not  to  the  blow ;  second,  that  if  he  had 
been  perfectly  sober  he  would  not  have  fallen.  Very  lucid 
was  he,  very  persuasive.  But  his  audience  was  waiting 
for  what  was  to  come. 

"  Finally,  gentlemen,  I  hope  to  show  that  in  throwing  that 
chisel  the  prisoner  was  guilty  of  no  crime ;  rather  that  he 
was  the  necessary  unofficial  policeman  of  the  moral  law. 
There  are  still,"  he  went  on,  dwelling  on  the  words  like  an 
epicure,  "there  are  still  offenses  which  are  not  amenable 
to  ordinary  justice,  which  can  be  dealt  with  only  by  ... 
punching  the  offender's  head,  cramming  his  words  back 
down  his  own  throat.  This  was  such  a  case.  Look  first 
at  the  dead  man."  He  broke  off  to  give  a  summary  of 
Trent's  glorious-inglorious  career:  the  ribbon  on  the  one 
hand,  disgrace  on  the  other.  "  Brilliant  promise,  you  see, 
marred  by  a  single  fault.  '  It  was  never  wine  with  me  '— 
we  have  that  on  his  own  authority ;  it  was  a  fouler  vice.  The 
man  was  rotten :  still  showing  a  fair  outside,  still  preserving 
some  traits  of  kindliness,  but  black-rotten  within.  When  a 
decent  man  gets  a  glimpse  of  that  sort  of  thing,  he  doesn't 
stay  to  argue ;  he  hits  out. 


178  CONVICT  B14 

"  Now  in  defending  the  prisoner  I  was  met  at  first  by  a 
singular  difficulty.  Neither  he  nor  the  only  known  witness 
of  the  scene  could  remember  the  words  which  provoked  the 
outbreak.  Strange,  you  will  say ;  most  strange ;  suspicious, 
even.  Surely  they  could  make  some  sort  of  rough  guess? 
But  no,  both  persisted ;  they  could  not.  What  pointed  the 
moral  was  the  fact  that  these  two  were  conferring  together 
at  the  moment  of  the  prisoner's  arrest.  It  looked  like  a  con- 
spiracy of  silence.  Now  why  should  they  conspire  to  keep 
silence?  In  order  to  hide  some  fact  damaging  to  the 
prisoner.  That  is  the  obvious  deduction,  which  of  course 
you  have  already  drawn.  And,  gentlemen,  the  prisoner 
would  have  left  it  at  that:  he  would  have  let  your  judgment 
go  by  default  against  him,  and  taken  the  consequences:  you 
would  never  have  heard  the  facts,  never,  but  for  a  totally 
unexpected  circumstance,  which  came  to  my  knowledge  not 
forty-eight  hours  ago. 

"There  was  another  witness  to  that  scene  in  the  hotel. 
Unknown  to  my  client  or  to  his  friend,  another  of  the  guests 
saw  and  overheard  everything  that  happened.  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  summarize  this  testimony.  I  shall  leave  it  in  the 
witness's  own  words,  and  I  shall  leave  you  to  draw  your 
own  conclusions ;  asking  you  to  bear  in  mind,  as  you  do  so, 
the  story  of  her  dealings  with  the  prisoner  which  you  have 
heard  from  Mrs.  Trent. 

"  This  only  I  will  say :  We  men  of  the  law,  seeing  nothing 
but  meanness  and  crime,  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  grow 
sometimes  to  despair  of  the  world,  to  see  nothing  before  it 
but  a  certain  fearful  looking  for  of  judgment  and  fiery 
indignation.  Acts  such  as  the  prisoner's  redress  the  balance. 
They  show  us  once  again  the  sense  of  tears  in  mortal  things, 
the  indestructible  nobility  of  the  human  heart,  the  God  in 
human  nature.  '  Through  such  souls  alone  God  stooping 
shows  sufficient  of  his  light  for  us  i'  the  dark  to  rise  by.' 
Gentlemen,  I  should  like  to  thank  the  prisoner. 

"  Call  Laetitia  Jane  Smith." 

Lettice  stepped  into  the  witness-box.     She  did  not  look  at 


ROUGH  JUSTICE  179 

Gardiner,  gazing  at  her  with  his  haggard  eyes  as  at  a  dream 
come  true ;  nor  at  Dorothea,  shrinking  away  like  a  child  from 
the  lash.  Self -withdrawn  and  expressionless,  she  looked 
straight  at  the  examining  counsel,  and  to  him  alone  she  gave 
her  evidence. 

Yes,  she  had  been  staying  at  the  prisoner's  hotel  on  the 
night  in  question.  She  had  gone  there  to  meet  her  cousin, 
Mr.  Merion-Smith.  She  had  not  told  him  that  she  meant 
to  do  so ;  she  wanted  to  take  him  by  surprise.  She  engaged 
a  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  west  wing.  She  did  not 
go  in  to  dinner,  nor  did  she  try  to  see  her  cousin  that  eve- 
ning, because  she  had  a  bad  headache.  She  stayed  in  her 
room  writing.  About  ten  o'clock  she  went  out  for  a  breath 
of  air.  She  came  back  at  twenty-two  minutes  past  ten. 
How  did  she  know  the  time?  Because  she  stopped  to  set 
her  watch  by  the  clock  in  the  hall.  Afterwards  she  went 
straight  to  her  room.  It  was  in  darkness,  but  the  room 
opposite,  the  prisoner's  room,  was  lighted  up.  Her  window 
and  his  were  both  open.  She  could  see  in  clearly.  The  dis- 
tance was  not  great.  She  had  very  good  sight.  "I  can 
read  the  papers  in  your  hand,"  said  Lettice  concisely. 
There  were  three  persons  in  the  room :  her  cousin,  sitting  by 
the  window;  the  prisoner,  at  the  table:  and  a  third  man, 
whom  from  a  photograph  she  had  since  identified  as  Major 
Trent,  leaning  back  against  the  mantelpiece.  Major  Trent 
was  speaking.  He  seemed  to  be  finishing  some  story.  He 
was  laughing.  The  prisoner  did  not  laugh,  nor  did  Mr. 
Merion-Smith.  The  latter  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to  the 
prisoner,  and  the  prisoner  answered.  She  could  not  hear 
what  was  said  because  they  spoke  in  whispers.  Her  cousin 
seemed  angry.  "  He  was  bristling  all  over,"  said  Lettice. 
The  prisoner  then  turned  and  addressed  the  deceased.  Yes, 
she  could  hear  that.  What  he  said?  He  suggested  it  was 
getting  late,  and  that  Mrs.  Trent  would  be  tired.  Was  she 
sure  he  mentioned  Mrs.  Trent?  Quite.  Major  Trent  said, 
"  Oh,  my  wife!  "  and  burst  out  laughing.  He  came  up  to 
the  table,  leaned  across  to  the  prisoner,  and  added  another 


180  CONVICT  B14 

sentence.  Yes,  she  had  heard  every  word.  Yes,  she  re- 
membered every  word.  Would  she  tell  the  court  exactly 
what  it  was  ? 

Lettice  looked  back  at  her  questioner  and  answered  him 
alone,  isolating  him  and  herself,  as  though  judge,  jury, 
prisoner,  and  spectators  did  not  exist.  She  spoke  with 
colorless  precision : 

"  He  said,  '  Ever  hear  of  what  they  call  an  interesting 
situation?  Damn  uninteresting  I  find  it  —  especially  to 
look  at ! '" 

The  truth  was  out.  Useless  for  Hancock  to  cross- 
examine;  not  a  soul  in  court  but  knew  they  had  the  facts 
at  last.  The  jury  made  up  their  minds  upon  their  verdict. 
As  juries  often  do,  they  had  set  up  among  themselves  a 
standard  of  rough  justice,  and  neither  the  prisoner's  own 
statement  nor  the  judge's  summing  up  could  avail  to  change 
them.  If  Lettice  had  not  spoken,  they  would  have  found 
the  prisoner  guilty;  if  he  himself  had  not  tried  to  evade 
justice,  they  would  have  found  him  innocent.  As  it  was, 
their  verdict  was  a  compromise.  Guilty  of  manslaughter, 
but  very  strongly  recommended  to  mercy. 

Mr.  Justice  Beckwith  may  have  thought  he  was  carrying 
out  their  recommendation  in  sentencing  Gardiner  to  nine 
months'  imprisonment  in  the  second  division. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HEU  QUAM  MUTATUS 

When  the  righteous  man  turneth  away  from  his  righteousness  and 
eth  according  to  all  the  abominations  that  the  wicked  man  doeth 
shall  he  live  ?  —  EZEKIEL. 

THE  prison  gates  shut.  Silence  fell.  The  troubled  waters 
settled  into  calm.  Tom  went  back  to  Queenstown ;  Mr. 
Gardiner  to  Woodlands  —  and  to  bed,  with  a  couple  of 
nurses  in  attendance.  Denis  was  presumably  at  Dent-de- 
lion,  working  for  the  Aero  Show.  Mrs.  Trent  had  gone 
no  one  knew  whither.  And  Lettice,  her  duty  done,  had 
escaped  unmolested  to  her  attic  in  Pimlico,  where  she  settled 
back  into  her  groove,  with  that  sort  of  capillary  attraction 
towards  the  inconspicuous  and  the  ordinary,  which  marked 
her  conduct  always  except  when  she  was  making  one  of  her 
gravely  calculated  excursions  into  the  extraordinary. 

Why  had  she  held  her  tongue?  Her  friends  did  not 
need  to  be  told.  "It's  Lettice  all  over!"  said  Gardiner 
himself,  half  fond,  half  laughing.  She  had  had  two  main 
motives  (or  rather  springs  of  action ;  for  "  motive  "  implies 
conscious  volition,  whereas  Lettice  did  simply  without  think- 
ing what  came  natural)  — the  one  a  principle,  the  other  a 
prejudice.  First,  she  would  never,  if  she  could  possibly 
avoid  it,  interfere  in  other  people's  affairs  —  that  was  the 
principle ;  and  second,  with  every  taste  and  instinct  she  hated 
to  be  made  conspicuous  —  that  was  the  prejudice,  and  a 
tough  one. 

With  these  reasons  against  speaking,  moreover,  she  saw 

none  for.     It  never  entered  her  head  that  some  people  might 

say  she  had  treated  Gardiner  unfairly,  in  letting  him  tell  his 

tale  while  keeping  her  own  knowledge  in  reserve.     What 

181 


182  CONVICT  B14 

difference  could  it  possibly  make?  Why  should  she  have 
spoken  ?  It  would  only  have  made  him  very  uncomfortable, 
and  Denis  would  simply  have  hated  it.  All  this,  of  course, 
rested  on  the  assumption  of  her  own  detachment,  insulation, 
negligibility :  in  which  Lettice  was  so  rooted  and  grounded 
that  she  was  quite  surprised  to  find  other  people  surprised 
by  what  to  her  came  natural  as  breathing. 

Her  explanation,  given  in  court,  ran  something  as  fol- 
lows :  — "  I  didn't  speak  before  the  inquest  because  I  know 
there  were  two  other  witnesses,  and  I  didn't  see  I  was 
wanted ;  and  after  it,  by  the  time  I  heard  what  had  hap- 
pened, it  was  too  late.  There  would  have  been  no  sense  in 
disturbing  things  again.  It  would  have  been  bad  for  every- 
body all  round,  and  worst  for  Mrs.  Trent.  But  now  —  now 
things  were  different.  I  had  to  speak  now.  It  was  time 
for  the  truth  to  come  out." 

Full  time.  Best  for  Dorothea,  as  well  as  for  her  victim. 
She  had  been  screened,  and  in  the  darkness  evil  things 
had  grown  up.  Down  with  all  screens  now.  In  the  light 
of  truth,  the  whole  jumble  resolved  itself  into  order.  Honor 
to  whom  honor  was  due;  judgment  to  whom  judgment. 
Even  Gardiner's  sentence  fell  into  place.  It  might  be  too 
heavy  for  the  particular  offense ;  but  no  one  knew  better  than 
himself  that  it  was  the  just  penalty  for  his  months  of 
cowardice. 

February  passed  into  March,  a  sweet,  mild  March:  blue 
skies,  brown  buds,  thrushes  singing,  daisies  on  every  lawn, 
violets  round  every  bush,  white  and  golden  daffodils  ruffling 
under  the  trees,  flood-water  glistening  like  frosted  silver 
among  tender  blades  of  grass.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
month  the  prisoner  saw  his  first  visitor.  Mr.  Gardiner,  being 
still  too  weak  to  go  himself,  sent  Tom.  Tom's  impressions 
were  recorded  in  a  duty  letter  to  Miss  Smith :  "  I  saw  my 
brother  for  a  few  minutes  yesterday  in  the  presence  of  a 
warder.  He  seems  very  fairly  cheerful  and  fit.  His  work 
is  in  the  printing  room.  He  asked  me  to  let  you  know  he  is 
going  strong."  Dry  crumbs !  Lettice's  consolation  was  that 
Mr.  Gardiner  would  be  no  better  satisfied  than  herself,  and 


HEU  QUAM  MUTATUS  183 

that  next  month  he  would  send  Denis.  Denis  had  at  least  a 
tongue  in  his  head.  That  is  to  say,  he  used  to  have  — 
unless  — 

A  few  days  later  she  received  another  letter,  this  time 
from  her  cousin.  He  inclosed  tickets  for  the  Aero  Show. 
"  I  know  these  things  aren't  much  in  your  line,  but  you 
can  give  them  away  to  somebody  or  other.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  we've  not  much  worth  seeing  on  our  stand  this  year. 
The  seaplane  didn't  get  done  after  all.  Yes,  I  may  be  in 
town  for  the  week-end,  but  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  be  able  to 
look  you  up.  Better  luck  next  time,  perhaps."  And  over- 
leaf, a  hastily  scribbled  postscript:  "I  suppose  you've 
heard  nothing  from  Westby?  I've  just  had  a  line  from 
Mr.  Gardiner:  he  says  Harry's  been  in  a  row  —  insub- 
ordination and  assaulting  a  warder  —  and  all  letters  and 
visits  are  stopped  off  for  the  next  two  months.  No  par- 
ticulars, only  that.  I  was  to  have  gone  down  there  next 
month,  you  know,  but  of  course  that's  off  now.  Bad  job, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

Lettice  laid  down  the  letter  with  an  unaccustomed  sinking 
of  the  heart.  Of  the  postscript  she  utterly  refused  to  let 
herself  think;  it  was  bad  enough  without  that.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  she  had  felt  uneasy  about  her  cousin.  How 
often  had  she  seen  him  since  Westby?  Not  once;  yet 
formerly  they  had  met,  as  a  matter  of  course,  whenever  he 
came  to  town.  Formerly,  too,  he  had  written  to  her  regu- 
larly every  week  —  by  an  unexpected  trait,  Denis  was  a 
graphic  writer,  just  as  with  his  friends  he  was  a  garrulous 
talker;  in  that  came  out  his  Irish  blood.  Now  she  might 
think  herself  lucky  if  she  heard  once  a  month;  and  what 
things  his  letters  were,  when  they  came !  The  last  had  been 
an  essay  on  the  uses  of  the  deck  or  cable  plane.  This  present 
one —  well,  this  was  the  climax.  Over  and  over  again, 
whenever  he  mentioned  the  Show  (and  it  had  been  his  staple 
conversation  for  months),  she  had  been  given  to  understand 
that  she  was  to  be  taken  to  Olympia,  and  dragged  round  the 
exhibits,  and  stuffed  with  information  whether  she  liked  it  or 
not ;  and  that  her  guide  was  to  be  no  other  than  himself. 


184  CONVICT  B14 

Lattice  faced  the  conclusion  that  there  was  something 
wrong. 

By  this  and  by  that,  by  what  she  had  seen  herself  and 
by  what  Gardiner  had  said  at  Westby,  she  had  gathered 
how  things  stood  between  Denis  and  Dorothea.  What 
would  be  the  effect  of  such  a  shock?  Lettice  found  herself 
unable  to  guess.  Up  to  a  certain  point,  Denis  was  trans- 
parent ;  for  years  she  had  read  him  like  a  book,  and  had  been 
able  to  predict  not  merely  what  he  would  do  or  say,  but  the 
very  gesture  and  accent  with  which  he  would  do  or  say  it. 
Dear  Denis,  tried  friend,  good  as  good  bread,  in  Gardiner's 
expressive  idiom,  pig-headed  Ulsterman  with  those  dark  blue 
Southern  Irish  eyes,  truculent  fighter  answering  to  the  light- 
est touch  of  her  silken  rein !  —  Lettice  was  a  good  lover,  and 
she  had  given  him  of  her  best.  But  now  —  now,  like 
Gardiner,  she  found  herself  up  against  a  door  that  had  no 
key.  What  was  going  on  inside?  What  was  Denis  doing 
there,  to  heal  him  of  his  deadly  wound?  She  did  not  know 
—  she  could  not  guess.  But  one  thing  was  certain :  he  would 
accept  no  help.  Gardiner  in  his  weakness  had  cried  out  to 
her  and  rested  on  her  strength ;  but  Denis  was  neither  weak 
nor  dependent.  Whatever  went  on  behind  the  closed  door 
was  between  him  and  his  God. 

Lettice  picked  up  the  tickets  again.  "  He's  sent  me  these 
things  because  he  felt  he  must,  but  he  doesn't  mean  me  to 
use  them,"  ran  her  slow  thoughts.  "  I  expect  that  means 
he's  going  to  be  there  himself.  Up  for  the  week-end ;  then 
he'll  probably  go  on  the  Saturday  — " 

Lettice  rarely  framed  a  definite  resolution,  but  after  long 
brooding  her  thoughts  would  settle  into  a  sediment  of 
purpose.  The  outcome  of  that  hiatus  was  that  on  Saturday 
she  put  on  her  best  things  and  went  to  Olympia  to  see  for 
herself. 

The  whole  floor  space  of  the  exhibition  hall  was  cut  up 
into  a  chess-board  of  stands,  each  one  carpeted  with  red 
felt  and  inclosed  in  a  white  railing.  Within  these  crimson 
plots  might  be  seen  every  variety  of  aeroplane.  Pusher, 
tractor,  hydroplane,  bat-boat,  super-marine,  the  names 


HEU  QUAM  MUTATUS  185 

sounded  very  imposing,  but  to  the  uninstructed  (videlicet 
to  Lettice)  they  all  looked  as  much  alike  as  a  crowd  of 
Chinamen.  Visitors  might  wander  about  at  will,  stooping 
under  huge  pale  arching  wings,  or  mounting  steps  to  inspect 
the  fittings  of  the  pilot's  cockpit.  Lettice  had  expected  to  be 
bored,  but  she  was  not.  At  that  time,  before  it  became 
mechanically  perfect  and  virtually  fool-proof,  while  its  im- 
perfections had  still  to  be  pieced  out  with  human  skill  and 
daring,  the  aeroplane  was  no  machine  but  an  individual. 
Denis  and  his  fellows  talked  of  particular  planes  as  a  man 
talks  of  particular  hunters  in  his  stable. 

After  wandering  round  the  stands,  and  duly  gazing  at 
the  Smith  monoplane,  Lettice  retired  to  the  tea-room 
where  she  established  herself  in  a  corner  behind  a  group  of 
palms.  Be  it  understood  that  she  had  come  strictly  to  see, 
not  to  speak  to  her  cousin;  she  knew  she  could  dodge  his 
short-sighted  eyes.  This  being  the  last  day  of  the  show,  the 
hall  was  full.  All  the  flying  world  seemed  to  be  there. 
Celebrities  were  thick  as  blackberries  in  the  woods  above 
Frahan ;  here  a  young  mechanic  who  had  become  famous  in 
a  day,  there  a  hereditary  legislator  who  had  ended  his  last 
race  (luckily  the  incident  hadn't  got  into  the  papers)  head 
downwards  in  a  ditch.  Many  of  the  men  belonged  to  a  cer- 
tain well-defined  physical  type,  lean,  wiry,  and  small-made. 
Other  things  being  equal,  the  light-weight  pilot  has  an  ad- 
vantage. The  women,  on  the  other  hand,  rarae  nantes  in 
gurgite  vasto,  were  mostly  hothouse  flowers.  Lettice,  of 
course,  knew  no  one;  she  would  have  been  quite  at  a  loss 
but  for  her  neighbor  at  the  next  table,  a  big  man  rather  like 
a  mastiff,  with  an  incongruous  soft  voice,  who  was  obligingly 
giving  the  carte  du  pays  to  his  companion. 

"See  that  old  cock  with  the  iron-gray  hair?  That's 
Arthur  Sturt,  the  ironmaster ;  he's  running  the  Derby  Flying 
School,  and  making  pots  of  money.  Able  chap ;  there  aren't 
many  men  of  sixty  who  have  receptivity  enough  to  believe 
in  the  aeroplane.  What  ?  Oh,  certainly,  sir,  the  compliment 
applies  to  you."  He  laughed,  pausing  to  light  a  cigar. 
"  The  youngster  eating  strawberries  with  the  flapper  in  a  pig- 


186  CONVICT  B14 

tail  —  got  him  ?  That's  Tommy  Wyatt.  Riviera  cup,  you 
know.  A  perfect  young  devil.  You  ought  to  have  been  at 
Hendon  last  Saturday;  he  was  putting  up  some  wonderful 
stunts  —  simply  playing  cup-and-ball  with  his  bus.  Oh,  I'm 
quite  a  back  number  these  days.  Soon  be  sixty  myself, 
what?" 

"  I  dare  say  you'll  find  you're  good  for  a  year  or  so  yet," 
said  his  companion  dryly.  He  was  a  lean,  elderly  clergyman 
with  an  adventurous  eye.  "  By  the  by,  is  your  partner 
here?" 

The  younger  man  shook  his  head.  "  Not  he !  Hasn't 
been  near  the  place.  I  don't  know  what's  taken  him  — 
that's  to  say  I  do,  and  wish  I  didn't.  He's  not  done  a  stroke 
of  work  this  year.  Let  me  down  rather  badly  over  the  sea- 
plane ;  I  particularly  wanted  to  show  it.  I  told  you  about 
that  nasty  affair  he  was  mixed  up  in,  didn't  I?  For  a 
straight-laced,  fastidious  fellow  like  him  it  must  have  been 
the  deuce  of  a  jolt,  and  of  course  one  makes  every  allow- 
ance ;  but  it's  a  nuisance,  all  the  same.  I'm  personally  sorry, 
too,"  he  added.  "  It's  a  bad  job  when  a  chap  of  that  type 
runs  off  the  rails.  What?  Oh,  no,  no  mistake  about  it, 
I'm  afraid;  she's  making  a  perfect  fool  of  herself.  Byrne 
will  get  his  divorce  this  time,  as  sure  as  eggs.  Hullo !  by 
George  — " 

"That's  not  he?" 

"  Yes,  it  is,  though,"  said  Wandesforde,  craning  forward. 
"  Good  Lord !  fancy  Evey  Byrne  letting  herself  be  dragged 
to  the  Aero  Show !  She  must  have  got  it  badly !  " 

Mrs.  Byrne  was  a  very  pretty  woman,  and  even  more 
charming  than  she  was  pretty.  She  had  a  husband  who 
was  impossible  to  live  with  and  whom  she  could  not  divorce 
because  she  was  a  Catholic.  He  had  no  such  scruples,  how- 
ever; he  had  dragged  her  through  the  court  on  trumped-up 
evidence,  and  she  had  emerged,  like  Susannah,  without  a 
stain  on  her  character.  It  was  felt  that  she  had  been  hardly 
used.  In  the  circumstances,  and  as  she  knew  how  to  give 
a  good  dinner  and  was  popular  with  women  as  well  as  men, 
she  was  allowed  a  good  deal  of  license.  She  needed  it  all. 


HEU  QUAM  MUTATUS  187 

She  was  very  sweet,  and  very  innocent,  and  hopelessly  indis- 
creet, with  an  Irish  aptitude  for  tumbling  into  scrapes.  She 
could  no  more  help  using  her  lovely  eyes  than  a  violet  can 
help  smelling ;  and  men  buzzed  round  her  always  like  wasps 
round  a  peach.  The  latest  of  her  captives,  having  led  her 
to  a  seat,  now  stood  beside  her  with  bent  head  to  receive  her 
instructions,  while  she  drew  the  gloves  off  her  lovely  hands 
and  arms.  What  Denis  felt  it  was  impossible  to  say ;  his  at- 
titude bespoke  admiration,  but  nothing  more. 

She  finished  her  directions,  he  nodded  assent,  and  threaded 
his  way  through  the  crowd  towards  the  buffet.  Turning  to 
retrace  his  steps  with  a  nicely  balanced  load  of  tea  and 
strawberries,  he  came  face  to  face  with  another  pair  who 
had  just  come  in.  The  encounter  might  have  been  fore- 
seen, and  indeed  Lettice  had  given  the  chance  a  thought ;  for 
Dorothea's  eyes  were  not,  like  Denis's,  easy  to  dodge.  Here 
she  was,  then,  she  too  with  a  cavalier  in  attendance,  to  judge 
from  his  expression  a  devoted  cavalier.  And  no  wonder; 
Dorothea,  in  a  long  cloak  of  violet  velvet,  and  a  big  velvet 
hat  with  sweeping  plume,  made  an  enchanting  figure.  Her 
face,  which  had  lost  its  childish  softness,  was  less  pretty, 
but  far  more  alluring.  April  was  unfolding  to  the  bloom  of 
May. 

Seeing  Denis,  she  stopped  dead ;  then  her  face  broke  into 
sunshine,  she  colored  like  a  damask  rose,  and  moved  for- 
ward impulsively  with  outstretched  hands.  Denis  continued 
on  his  way.  The  violet  velvet  was  actually  brushing  his 
sleeve.  "  I  beg  your  pardon ! "  he  said  with  unmoved 
politeness,  drawing  back  from  contact.  He  rejoined  his 
companion  and  sat  down  at  her  table. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Lettice  found  herself  en- 
joying the  sight  of  pain. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
BREAD  AND  SALT 

Were  you  thinking  how  we,  sitting  side  by  side, 
Might  be  dreaming  miles  and  miles  apart  ? 

Two  out  of  the  Crowd. 

LETTICE  had  had  no  tea,  but  she  did  not  stay  for  it;  she 
uprooted  herself,  setting  back  her  chair  without  a  sound,  and 
flitted  inconspicuously  out  of  the  exhibition.  On  her  slow 
way  home,  in  Tube  and  omnibus,  she  did  some  concen- 
trated thinking.  She  was  not  surprised  when  Beatrice 
rushed  up  from  the  basement  to  inform  her  that  a  lady  was 
waiting  in  her  room,  a  dazzling  lady  who  had  arrived  in  a 
taxi-cab;  she  needed  not  Beatrice's  ecstatic  description  to 
tell  her  who  that  lady  was.  She  had  caught  Dorothea's  eye 
across  the  hall.  Well,  what  must  be,  must ;  screwing  herself 
up  to  face  a  scene,  she  climbed  the  stairs. 

Her  visitor  had  not  sat  down ;  a  slight  sumptuous  figure, 
she  stood  posed  against  the  mantelpiece,  looking  down  into 
the  fire.  She  started  at  the  opening  door,  and  raised  her 
beautiful  gazelle-brown  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Oh,  Lettice!" 

Lettice  made  no  reply.  A  wave  of  obstinacy  rose  to 
meet  that  appeal;  she  came  to  the  table  and  stood  slowly 
taking  off  and  smoothing  out  her  gloves.  Lettice  was  some- 
times possessed  of  a  dumb  devil.  Dorothea's  eyes  opened 
piteously;  her  lip  quivered,  the  tears  tumbled  down  her 
cheeks,  but  in  a  flash  she  was  across  the  room,  had  seized 
Lettice  and  turned  her  round  by  force. 

"  I  don't  care,  you  can  be  as  angry  with  me  as  you  like, 
but  you  shall  listen,  you  shall  answer,  if  I  stay  here  all  night. 
That  woman  —  what  was  she  doing  with  Denis  ?  "  Lettice 
was  dumb.  "  Oh,  don't  you  begin  about  being  justly  angry 


BREAD  AND  SALT  189 

and  taking  righteous  vengeance  —  see  what  that  sort  of  rub- 
bish has  done  for  me  !  "  Dorothea  cried  with  passion.  "  I 
must  know  about  Denis.  What  has  she  done  to  him  ?  " 

"I  should  think  you  could  see  that  for  yourself,"  said 
Lettice,  opening  her  lips  with  extreme  and  ungracious  re- 
luctance. 

"  Yes ;  but  is  she  —  has  she  — " 

"  Ask  some  of  your  friends ;  they'll  know  all  the  London 
gossip." 

"  I  did  ask  Maurice,  but  he  either  couldn't  or  wouldn't 
tell ;  he  said  he'd  been  out  of  town.  Lettice,  oh,  Lettice,  you 
can't  surely  think  —  he  hasn't  really  — " 

"If  you  mean,  do  I  think  he's  living  with  her,  I  don't 
know;  I  should  think  it  very  likely.  But  what  does  it 
matter  to  you?  You've  done  all  you  wanted  —  you've  had 
your  revenge,  and  sent  Mr.  Gardiner  to  prison." 

She  freed  her  hands  resolutely  and  turned  away.  Dor- 
othea flung  herself  into  the  nearest  chair.  Beautiful  grace- 
ful figure,  with  the  long  lines  of  velvet  sweeping  to  her  feet, 
the  plumed  hat,  the  rich  hair,  the  ivory  whiteness  of  cheek 
and  throat  above  her  dark  luxurious  furs !  Lettice  hardened 
her  heart.  Let  her  go  back  to  her  Maurices  and  her  other 
friends  —  she  would  soon  get  over  it.  She  turned  away, 
turned  her  back  on  her  visitor,  and  began  to  prepare  her 
solitary  meal  as  though  Dorothea  did  not  exist.  There  was 
ill  will  in  the  very  curve  of  her  shoulders. 

Dorothea  looked  up. 

"  But  I  do  love  him  so,  Lettice !  " 

"  You  love  him?  "  exclaimed  Lettice,  pausing  with  her  egg 
on  its  way  to  the  saucepan. 

"  Why,  of  course  —  how  could  any  one  help  it  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  have  consoled  yourself  pretty  easily,"  said 
Lettice,  with  a  doubtful  glance  at  the  violet  velvet.  Dor- 
othea's eyes  followed  hers. 

"Consoled  myself?  Do  you  mean  this?  This?"  She 
crushed  up  the  velvet  in  her  hand  with  scorn.  "  Oh,  you 
are  stupid.  I  didn't  expect  you  to  be  stupid,  Lettice,  I 
thought  you  would  understand.  What  would  you  have  had 


190  CONVICT  B14 

me  do,  after  that  —  that  frightful  day  at  Westby?  One 
can't  die  to  order.  One  has  to  kill  time  somehow.  I  loved 
Denis  —  oh,  I  did,  I  did  love  him  —  right  from  the  very  first. 
You  may  say  I  led  him  on,  but  I  didn't,  I  didn't,  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing,  I  never  so  much  as  dreamed  of  its 
being  possible,  till  one  day  I  woke  up  and  just  found  it  had 
happened,  to  us  both.  So  then  what  could  I  do  but  tear  it 
out,  and  deny  it,  and  make  myself  be  loyal  to  my  husband? 
I  —  knew  —  yes,  I  suppose  I  did  know  that  Guy  wasn't  — 
I'd  seen  things  —  but  never  anything  really  bad ;  and  he  was 
always  good  to  me,  truth  he  was,  always.  Because  of  my 
money,  I  suppose.  But  I  didn't  know  that  then.  I  had  to 
believe  in  him,  because  he  was  all  I  had  in  the  world.  Oh ! 
I  can't  talk  of  it;  it  sears  me  to  think  of  those  months. 
Lettice,  Lettice,  you  haven't  been  married,  you  don't  know 
how  close  that  brings  you.  To  find  you  have  been  mingled, 
made  one  with  a  nature  like  that  —  thinking,  too,  those  hide- 
ous thoughts  my  husband  had  about  me  —  Yes,  look  at  that 
idea,  take  it  home  to  you,  if  you  can ;  and  then  tell  yourself 
that,  however  you  may  try,  you  have  not  been  married,  and 
you  don't  and  can't  know  what  that  awful  intimacy  means. 
Oh !  I've  been  thankful,  since,  that  my  baby  died.  I  was  glad 
to  know  the  truth ;  but  it  tore  me  in  two,  Lettice,  indeed,  in- 
deed it  did.  Console  myself?  Why,  I've  been  at  Hendon, 
learning  to  fly.  That  man  you  saw  me  with,  I  met  him 
there.  I  believe  he  fancies  I'm  going  to  marry  him.  I  don't 
care.  I  don't  know  what  I've  said  to  him.  It's  all  a  blank. 
I  never  woke  till  I  saw  Denis.  Why,  that  alone  might  have 
told  you ;  should  I  have  gone  to  him  as  I  did,  as  though  I 
were  sure  of  my  welcome,  there  in  the  face  of  everybody, 
if  I'd  known  what  I  was  doing?  I  didn't  know.  I  didn't 
know  anything,  except  that  to  see  him  again  was  like  coming 
home ;  and  I  went  to  him  without  another  thought." 

Lettice,  who  all  this  while  had  been  standing  stock-still, 
with  her  egg  in  her  spoon,  began  slowly  to  get  under  way. 
She  slid  the  egg  into  the  water,  noted  the  time,  straightened 
her  shoulders,  and  then  said,  in  a  definitely  milder  tone: 
"  Well,  I  don't  see  what  you  expect  me  to  do." 


BREAD  AND  SALT  191 

"  Can't  we  save  him  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "Denis  goes  his  own  way  It's 
no  use  interfering." 

"  If  you  were  to  say  something—" 

Another  slow  shake.  "He  wouldn't  listen.  I've  seen 
him  like  this  once  before,  with  a  man  he'd  been  good  to,  who 
cheated  him.  He  was  like  a  stone."  She  paused,  and  added, 
slowly,  slowly,  drop  by  drop  distilling  for  Dorothea's  com- 
fort the  essence  of  her  meditations  in  the  train :  "  I  don't 
suppose  it  will  go  far.  Denis  isn't  made  that  way.  He  will 
soon  get  tired  of  it."  "If  he  wanted  to  go  wrong,  he 
wouldn't  know  the  way!"  She  seemed  to  hear  Gardiner's 
very  accents.  The  acuteness  of  the  pain  took  her  by  sur- 
prise —  took  away  her  breath  and  stopped  her  words.  Dor- 
othea gave  a  miserable  little  sob. 

' '  Soon  get  tired  of  it ! '  Oh,  Lettice,  Lettice,  but  when 
you  think  of  what  he  was !  " 

To  that  Lettice  made  no  reply ;  her  face  was  grim.  After 
a  moment  she  exerted  herself  to  finish  her  former  speech, 
still  half  unwilling,  for  it  took  her  heart  long  to  forgive, 
though  her  head  now  acquitted  Dorothea  of  the  worst  of 
her  guilt,  of  a  deliberate  betrayal :  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
don't  believe  there  is  anything  wrong  yet.  I  believe  so  far 
he  is  only  playing  with  the  idea.  It  may  go  no  further.  He 
has  thirty  years  of  habit  to  fight  against."  She  did  not  say, 
"  To-day  will  probably  settle  it,  one  way  or  the  other,"  but 
the  thought  was  in  her  mind. 

Dorothea  had  sunk  down  on  the  rug  in  a  miserable  little 
heap,  and  was  propping  herself  against  the  mantelpiece. 
"  Oh,  I  have  been  bad,  I  have  been  bad,"  she  said  on  a  long 
quivering  breath,  twisting  her  hands  together,  while  the  tears 
came  tumbling  down  her  cheeks  and  into  her  lap.  "  Oh,  it 
doesn't  seem  fair  that  a  miserable  little  nobody  like  me 
should  be  allowed  to  do  so  much  harm.  Oh,  if  there  is  a 
God,  why  didn't  he  kill  me  when  my  baby  died,  and  have 
done  with  it  ?  To  let  me,  me  hurt  a  man  like  Denis  —  oh,  I 
ought  to  have  been  squashed  like  a  blackbeetle!  And  Mr. 
Gardiner  too.  Wherever  I  go  I  seem  to  bring  nothing  but 


192  CONVICT  B14 

trouble!     Do  lend  me  a  hanky,  Lettice,  mine's  all  soppy." 

"  It's  hardly  worth  while  to  think  of  Mr.  Gardiner,  is  it?  " 
suggested  Lettice  with  faint  irony.  Dorothea  raised  her  wet 
eyes. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  think  of  him,  only  I  think  of  Denis 
more.  It's  everything  with  Denis,  it  was  just  because  he 
wasn't  like  other  men  you  couldn't  help  loving  him.  And 
now  —  now,  even  if  he  gets  over  it,  as  you  say,  it  will  never, 
never  be  the  same."  She  stopped  to  swallow  a  sob.  "  But 
Mr.  Gardiner  —  I  know  prison  is  horrid,  and  I'm  sorry,  oh  ! 
dreadfully  sorry  and  ashamed  whenever  I  think  of  him,  but 
he'll  come  out  at  the  end  none  the  worse.  Why,  it  isn't  even 
as  if  it  were  a  disgrace!  You  feel  the  same,  Lettice,  you 
know  you  do." 

Lettice  said  nothing;  her  face  might  have  betrayed  her, 
had  Dorothea  been  on  the  alert ;  but  she  was  already  back 
with  Denis.  She  did  not  like  Gardiner,  and  she  would  never 
understand  him.  But  Lettice  —  by  that  naive  assumption  of 
her  prime  concern  for  her  cousin  Dorothea  had  shown  her, 
rather  more  plainly  than  she  liked,  where  she  stood.  Her 
center  of  interest  had  shifted.  She  was  scarcely  sorry  for 
Denis ;  she  was  almost  angry  with  him.  "  He  shouldn't 
have  done  it,"  she  said  with  a  touch  of  sternness.  "  I  am 
disappointed  in  him."  Lettice  expected  a  good  deal  from 
her  friends.  Her  feelings  had  changed,  adjusting  them- 
selves unconsciously  to  the  change  in  Denis.  The  protec- 
tive instinct  was  dead.  "  When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  as  a 
child.  .  .  ."  Denis  had  put  away  childish  things,  and  as  a 
man  she  judged  him. 

Gardiner  had  disappointed  her  too,  yet  with  him  she  was 
not  angry.  His  failure  had  been  involuntary;  and  he  had 
redeemed  it,  coming  back  of  his  own  free  will  to  put  his 
manhood  to  the  test.  He  was  under  the  question  now,  this 
minute,  every  minute  of  the  day.  For  the  first  time  she  let 
herself  think  of  Denis's  postscript :  tacitly  acknowledging  that 
if  she  had  not  done  so  before,  it  was  because  she  dared  not. 
She  could  reason  about  Denis,  she  could  not  reason  about 
this,  though  it  lay  in  her  heart  like  a  stone  all  the  time. 


BREAD  AND  SALT  193 

For  Denis  the  issue  was  decided ;  whether  he  went  to  Mrs. 
Byrne  or  not,  his  eyes  had  been  opened,  he  had  tasted  the 
fruit  of  the  tree,  he  could  never  regain  that  child-like  quality 
of  which  Dorothea  had  robbed  him.  If  he  took  the  one  step 
further  —  well  —  yes,  it  did  matter,  it  mattered  horribly, 
the  constriction  at  her  heart  was  only  less  than  she  felt  in 
thinking  of  the  other  sufferer.  Still,  it  was  less,  for  Denis 
would  retrieve  himself;  Gardiner  would  not.  If  he  failed 
now,  he  would  be  a  broken  man ;  he  would  go  under.  "  In- 
subordination, assaulting  a  warder  " —  the  words  seemed 
ominous  as  thunder  on  a  sultry  night. 

And  meanwhile  here  was  the  fount  and  origin  of  all  this 
trouble,  sitting  on  the  rug,  leaning  her  small  head,  stuffed 
with  tears,  against  the  wall,  a  dolorous  little  heap:  poor 
child,  she  had  punished  herself  worse  than  her  victims. 
What  to  do  with  her?  Lettice  had  never  responded  with 
enthusiasm  to  Dorothea's  advances.  Dorothea  was  intense ; 
Lettice  preferred  the  humdrum.  Nor,  as  has  been  said, 
could  she  easily  forgive.  Still,  if  Dorothea  really  needed 
her,  she  supposed  she  would  have  to  produce  some  sort  of 
response.  She  moved  about,  laying  the  table,  cutting  the 
bread ;  presently  she  came  to  the  fire  to  make  toast.  Dor- 
othea roused  herself.  "  Let  me  do  that,"  she  said,  her  voice 
still  thick  and  languid  with  tears.  "  You  go  and  sit  down." 

"  You'll  spoil  your  frock,"  said  Lettice,  with  a  last  faintly 
disparaging  glance  at  the  violet  velvet.  Dorothea's  eyes 
glinted;  she  set  her  teeth,  stooped  down,  seized  the  hem 
of  her  skirt  between  her  strong  little  hands,  and  tore  it, 
r-r-rip,  half-way  up  to  the  waist. 

"  That  for  my  frock !  " 

What  a  baby  it  was,  after  all !  "  Now  I  shall  have  to 
mend  that  before  you  can  go  home,"  Lettice  admonished  her, 
in  a  tone  which,  for  Dorothea,  she  had  never  used  before. 

"  Don't  care,"  retorted  Dorothea,  defiant  chin  in  air.  And 
then,  with  a  swift  little  snuggling  movement,  she  nestled 
against  Lettice.  "  Oh,  Lettice,  Lettice,  I've  been  bad,  and 
hateful,  and  I  don't  deserve  to  have  any  one  like  me,  but  — 
may  I  come  and  see  you  sometimes  ?  I  do  seem  to  get  into 


194  CONVICT  B14 

such  muddles  when  I'm  all  by  myself  —  and  I  haven't  any 
one  in  all  the  world  to  go  to  now  but  you !  " 

Lettice  did  not  answer,  because  she  was  engaged  in  res- 
cuing the  toasting  fork  from  her  guest's  heedless  hand, 
and  blowing  out  the  flaming  bread.  She  scraped  off  the 
cinders,  and  with  a  firmness  that  admitted  no  question  put 
that  piece  on  her  own  plate,  and  the  other,  which  she  had 
made  herself,  on  Dorothea's. 

"  Now  come  and  have  your  tea,"  was  her  sole  reply. 

Bread  and  salt  —  they  ate  it  together. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
DIEU  DISPOSE 

I  thought  to  promote  thee  unto  great  honor,  but,  lo,  the  Lord  hath 
kept  thee  back  from  honor.— NUMBERS. 

AT  the  moment  when  Lettice  and  Dorothea  were  sitting 
down  to  bread  and  salt  in  Canning  Street,  Denis  was  leaning 
over  a  rustic  bridge  in  the  garden  of  Mrs.  Byrne's  week- 
end cottage. 

By  what  difficult,  obscure,  and  tortuous  paths  he  had  been 
wandering  in  those  days  he  could  not  have  told,  nor  could 
any  one  have  followed.  Dorothea  had  done  him  the  worst 
injury;  she  had  broken  his  faith.  His  love  and  his  religion 
were  so  closely  intertwined  that  they  fell  together,  with  a 
crash  that  numbed  sensation.  The  world  turned  gray  and 
all  the  lamps  went  out.  If  he  could  not  believe  in  God,  Denis 
could  believe  in  nothing  and  love  nothing.  He  did  not  know 
what  was  wrong  with  him ;  he  was  not  actively  and  con- 
sciously unhappy,  but  he  was  bored  —  sick  of  himself,  sick 
of  his  work,  sick  of  all  he  had  been  and  done  in  all  his  life 
before. 

He  stayed  on  at  Bredon  from  force  of  habit,  because  it 
was  too  much  trouble  to  make  up  his  mind  to  go  else- 
where. The  trial  at  Westby  broke  this  routine;  and  the 
heavy  sentence  on  his  friend,  outraging  his  sense  of  justice, 
snapped  another  of  the  links  that  held  him  to  his  former  life. 
What  was  the  good  of  virtue,  he  asked  himself  (seriously, 
as  a  novel  idea),  if  this  was  to  be  its  reward?  What  had 
he  ever  got  by  it  himself?  Why  shouldn't  he  try  pleasure 
for  a  change?  Why  not,  indeed?  Conscience  made  no 
protest;  that  was  one  of  the  lamps  which  had  gone  out. 
When  he  left  Westby  he  did  not  go  back  to  Bredon;  he 
195 


196  CONVICT  B14 

stayed  in  town,  with  the  deliberate  intention  of  "  seeing 
life." 

In  pursuit  of  this  ambition  he  visited  music  halls,  which 
he  regarded  as  temples  of  gay  vice,  and  tried  to  cultivate 
the  more  frivolous  of  his  male  acquaintance,  and  even  went 
so  far  as  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  a  night  club  —  and  was 
more  profoundly  bored  than  ever.  One  evening  he  laid  him- 
self out  conscientiously  to  get  drunk.  This  was  not  a  suc- 
cess ;  it  ended  in  a  bilious  attack  and  a  long  distaste  for 
whisky.  Another  time  he  sat  down  to  play  "  chimmy  "  with 
the  most  inveterate  gamblers  he  knew.  Beginner's  luck 
helped  him  at  first  to  win  five  pounds,  which  didn't  excite 
him ;  then  he  lost  twenty,  and  was  disproportionately  an- 
noyed. Nature  had  not  cut  out  Denis  for  a  rone.  He  did 
not  amuse  himself  or  any  one  else.  Even  Bredon  and  the 
seaplane  were  better  than  this.  He  would  have  given  up  and 
gone  back  to  them  in  despair,  if  he  had  not  happened  to  fall 
in  with  Mrs.  Byrne. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  car  in  a  lonely  lane  at  ten  o'clock 
at  night  when  he  saw  her  first,  weeping  tears  of  rage  because 
her  chauffeur  had  sunk  down,  snoring  drunk,  and  she  could 
not  stir  him.  Such  things  did  happen  to  Mrs.  Byrne.  Denis 
came  to  the  rescue ;  he  ejected  the  chauffeur  by  the  wayside, 
and  took  the  lady  home  himself.  She  was  very  grateful, 
and  invited  him  to  dinner.  It  was  a  pleasant  house,  and  one 
met  amusing  people  —  literary,  artistic,  a  little  out  of  the 
usual  set  which  had  bored  Denis  so  desperately.  He  liked 
his  pretty,  feather-wilted  hostess,  too,  and  she  liked  him ;  in- 
deed, before  long  it  was  plain  that  she  more  than  liked  him. 
It  was  not  plain  to  Denis,  who  remained  virtuously  stiff  as 
a  ramrod  long  after  the  clubs  were  betting  on  Byrne's  chance 
of  bringing  off  his  divorce  this  time.  Mrs.  Byrne  had  fallen 
headlong  in  love,  and  she  was  incapable  of  discretion. 

When  at  last  the  truth  dawned  on  Denis,  his  first  impulse 
was  to  bolt.  But  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  do  so.  He 
stayed  on,  deliberately  exposing  himself  to  temptation  in 
the  hope  that  it  would  tempt  him.  He  found  it  a  hard 
struggle  to  be  wicked.  So  far,  then,  Lettice  was  right;  he 


DIEU  DISPOSE  197 

had  not  yet  committed  himself.  She  was  right,  too,  in  think- 
ing that  the  scene  at  Olympia  would  decide  things  one  way 
or  another.  Denis  believed  himself  to  be  quite  indifferent  to 
Dorothea;  yet  her  face  (he  could  not  have  said  how)  had 
given  him  the  slight  deciding  push,  and  he  returned  to  Mrs. 
Byrne  with  his  mind  made  up. 

The  brook  by  which  he  stood,  patched  with  silver  by  the 
young  March  moon,  found  its  way  between  bronze-stemmed 
alders,  past  willows  cloudy  in  pollen-yellow,  under  banks 
where  the  kingcups  spread  their  nosegays  of  burnished  green 
and  gold.  Violets,  invisible  but  sweet,  clustered  at  the  root 
of  every  rose.  The  scene  was  set  for  lovers,  and  Denis  had 
been  making  love.  Did  he  do  it  well?  It  might  have  been 
worse.  There  had  been  opposition  to  overcome,  unexpected, 
stimulating:  Evey  Byrne  with  a  conscience,  forsooth! 
Denis  had  tasted  the  first-fruits  of  pleasure  in  crushing  down 
her  scruples  and  making  her  own  she  loved  him.  He  had 
wrung  out  the  confession  without  mercy.  She  tried  to  hold 
him  off  with  her  weak  little  hands  against  his  breast. 

"  Ah,  but  ye  don't  truly  love  me,  Denis !  " 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  said  Denis,  kissing  her  fawn-soft  eyes  and 
sweet,  half-reluctant  lips. 

"  Ah,  but  'tis  so  wicked !     God'll  never  forgive  us !  " 

"  There  is  no  God  that  counts,"  Denis  answered.  He 
kissed  her  again.  He  had  no  idea  that  in  his  heart  he  was 
kissing  Dorothea. 

That  was  ten  minutes  ago.  Was  it  time  yet?  Hardly,  he 
decided;  he  might  allow  himself  to  finish  his  cigar.  Alas! 
out  of  her  presence  the  blaze  had  all  too  quickly  died  down. 
Mrs.  Byrne  was  sweet,  but  she  bored  him  like  everything 
else.  Still,  he  would  go  to  her ;  yes,  he  would  certainly  go  in 
a  minute.  It  was  his  duty  to  see  the  thing  through. 
(Naturam  e.vpellas  f 'urea  —  it  seemed  that  Denis  could  not 
get  away  from  that  word !) 

What  a  fool  he  was!  Who  would  believe  that  he  had 
reached  his  present  age  in  his  present  state  of  innocence? 
He  hoped  Mrs.  Byrne  hadn't  found  it  out,  but  he  was  rather 
afraid  she  had.  If  Denis  had  been  honest  with  himself  he 


198  CONVICT  B14 

would  have  had  to  admit  that  one  reason  why  he  lingered 
here  by  the  river,  instead  of  seeking  the  welcome  that  awaited 
him,  was  that  he  was  shy.  Too  ignominious,  that;  he  shuf- 
fled away  from  the  thought.  He  was  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self all  round.  Why  couldn't  he  behave  like  other  men  ?  In 
the  old  days  at  Bredon  how  gloriously  happy  he  had  been, 
with  the  delicate  engine  of  his  brain  working  at  full  pres- 
sure, solving  problems  faster  than  his  pencil  could  write  them 
down!  Now,  it  seemed,  he  could  neither  play  nor  work. 
What  was  it  he  had  been  sticking  over,  that  last  evening  be- 
fore he  went  to  Westby?  The  everlasting  difficulty,  speed 
versus  safety.  There  had  been  one  or  two  rather  clever 
things  in  the  show  to-day.  The  Sturt  bus,  that  used  I-struts, 
as  he  had  meant  to  do ;  but  the  chord  of  the  wings  was  too 
large,  the  stresses  would  be  impossibly  high.  Why  on  earth 
couldn't  Sturt  see  — 

Who  can  tell  whence  ideas  come?  Inter-stellar  drift? 
Some  beam  from  the  eternal  verities  shone  suddenly  in 
Denis's  brain.  He  pulled  out  an  old  envelope  and  began 
covering  it  with  rapid  calculations.  Ten  minutes  later,  when 
he  next  looked  up,  there  was  scarcely  room  for  another  fig- 
ure. He  had  come  to  a  halt ;  he  could  go  no  further  with- 
out referring  to  his  old  work.  What  time  was  it?  He 
peered  at  his  watch  in  the  moonlight.  Half-past  ten:  if 
he  got  up  to  town  to-night,  and  slept  at  the  Grosvenor,  he 
could  catch  the  five-forty  down  and  be  at  Bredon  in  time  for 
breakfast.  He  thrust  the  sheet  of  calculations  into  his 
pocket,  and,  with  about  one-twentieth  of  his  mind  upon  the 
scene,  started  for  the  house.  Coming  in  sight  of  its  lighted 
windows,  however,  he  slackened  and  stopped.  Mrs.  Byrne. 
There  was  not  much  sense  left  in  his  head,  but  it  had  oc- 
curred to  him  that  his  errand  might  be  awkward  to  explain 
in  person. 

Denis  never  had  been,  or  would  be,  afflicted  with  self- 
consciousness.  He  turned  back  from  the  lawn,  skulked  like 
a  burglar  through  shrubberies  and  behind  trees,  and  climbed 
in  at  the  window  of  the  room  where  they  had  dined.  Still 
without  a  thought  of  false  shame,  he  sat  down  at  Mrs. 


DIEU  DISPOSE  199 

Byrne's  own  writing-table,  and  wrote  with  Mrs.  Byrne's  own 
pen,  on  her  own  paper.  Another  man  might  have  found 
some  difficulty  in  putting  into  words  what  he  had  to  say ;  to 
Denis  it  seemed  quite  simple. 

"  MY  DEAREST  EVEY, —  I  was  standing  on  your  bridge  just 
now,  thinking  of  nothing  else  likely,  when  suddenly  an  idea 
flashed  into  my  head  which  settles  a  problem  that  has  wor- 
ried me  for  years.  If  it  works  out  as  it  should,  it  will  make 
a  revolution  in  aircraft  design.  There's  been  nothing  like  it 
since  the  Wrights.  So  I  shall  have  to  get  straight  back  into 
harness.  You'll  forgive  me,  I  know."  Here  he  paused,  and 
debated  whether  to  quote,  "  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so 
much,"  but  decided  against  it.  Mrs.  Byrne  was  not  literary. 
"  One  has  to  put  the  big  things  first,  hasn't  one?  And  after 
all,  this  hits  me  even  harder  than  it  hits  you."  Denis  was 
pleased  with  this  phrase.  '*  If  all  goes  well,  I  will  come  back 
and  make  my  apologies  in  person.  I  am  not  waiting  now, 
because  I  am  afraid  if  I  saw  you  I  might  not  go."  He  was 
even  better  pleased  with  this.  A  satisfied  smile  overspread 
his  face  as  he  signed  himself,  "  Devotedly  yours,"  a  form 
which  he  had  never  used  before,  and  which  took  him  some 
time  to  excogitate.  Then  he  rang  the  bell,  gave  the  note  to 
a  servant,  and  took  himself  off  —  again  by  the  window. 

"  Make  my  apologies  in  person."  Denis,  it  will  be  seen, 
was  not  repentant.  He  returned,  as  he  had  promised,  a 
week  later,  prepared  to  pick  up  the  thread  of  his  adventure 
and  do  his  duty  to  its  boring  end.  He  was  surprised  —  sur- 
prised and  aggrieved  — to  learn  that  Mrs.  Byrne  was  not  at 
home.  "  But  she  was  expectin'  me ! "  he  said,  quite  indig- 
nant, to  the  model  of  decorum  who  stood  guardian  at  the 
gate. 

"  Yes,  sir.  She  asked  me  to  give  you  this  note,"  said  the 
model  without  moving  an  eyelid.  But  he  scanned  Denis's 
face  very  inquisitively  as  he  tore  open  the  paper  and  read: 

"  Denis  darling,  this  is  God.  I  tried  to  steal  you  away 
from  Him,  but  He  won't  let  me  have  you.  I  knew  all  the 


200  CONVICT  B14 

time  how  wrong  it  was.  It  has  all  been  my  fault.  I  am 
going  where  I  can  pray  for  you  and  pray  to  be  forgiven. 
Oh !  don't  be  angry  with  me,  and  don't  let  her  be  angry  with 
me.  I  have  been  very  wicked,  but  I  did  love  you  so. 

"  EVEY." 

The  decorous  Morris,  who  read  this  note  (for  of  course 
Mrs.  Byrne  had  omitted  to  seal  it),  got  little  by  his  scrutiny. 
The  visitor  did  not  stamp,  nor  swear,  nor  turn  red,  nor  pale ; 
he  read  through  his  dismissal  with  a  very  singular  expression 
of  gravity,  turned  away,  came  back  absently  to  slip  a  tip 
into  the  man's  hand,  and  finally  strode  off  down  the  drive, 
carrying  his  handsome  head,  as  poor  Camille  said  of  his 
enemy,  like  the  saint  sacrament,  his  dark  blue  Irish  eyes 
fixed  on  far  distant  horizons. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
THE  FIRST  ROUND 

Better  is  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a  city. — 
PROVERBS. 

SEVEN  years  of  prison  doctoring  had  not  blunted  the  first 
fine  temper  of  Leonard  Scott's  sympathy.  Doctors  in  gen- 
eral, even  in  ordinary  practice,  have  to  harden  themselves 
or  .break  down  ;  Scott  stuck  to  his  work  year  after  year,  and 
yet  contrived  to  remain  as  tender-hearted  as  a  novice  at  his 
first  death-bed.  He  was  steeped  in  that  fount  of  love  and 
strength,  romance  and  poetry,  known  as  the  Catholic  faith. 
Not  the  Roman  Catholic  faith,  be  it  observed.  Nothing  an- 
noyed him  more  than  to  be  called  a  papist  —  except  to  be 
called  a  Protestant. 

He  was  a  dreamer,  a  saint,  a  mystic,  this  dapper  little  man 
with  the  snappy  manner  and  the  aggressively  white  linen ;  a 
citizen  of  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  whose  ports  of  pearl  and 
streets  of  shining  gold  were  more  real  to  him  than  the  walls 
of  Westby  Jail.  Saints  and  martyrs  crowded  heaven  to 
applaud  his  progress ;  warrior  angels  fought  at  his  right 
hand;  Christ  himself  stooped  to  him  in  the  mystery  of  the 
Eucharist.  In  this  faith  he  was  able  to  go  on  working  hope- 
fully at  his  hopeless  task  —  for  what,  after  all,  was  the  use 
of  patching  up  these  wretched  bodies  which  in  a  few  weeks 
must  go  back  to  the  dirt  and  the  vices  that  had  bred  their 
disease  ?  Leonard  Scott  thought  it  was  a  great  deal  of  use ; 
he  loved  his  criminals.  The  sociologist  would  have  seen 
Westby  Jail  as  a  garbage  heap  meet  for  the  furnace;  the 
Christian  idealist  went  about  joyfully  picking  up  pearls. 

But  a  faith  which  removes  mountains  may  fail  to  console 
the  man  who  has  to  appear  in  knickerbockers  at  a  dinner- 
party ;  and  this  child  of  heaven  was  made  very  uncomfortable 
201 


202  CONVICT  BU 

by  the  addition  of  Gardiner  to  his  happy  family  of  jail- 
birds. He  hated  attending  as  prison  doctor  on  the  man 
whom  his  evidence  had  helped  to  convict,  and  he  did  not 
like  Gardiner  himself.  He  thought  him  flippant,  a  quality 
which  arises  punctually  to  answer  expectation.  Since  he  did 
not  like  him,  he  felt  he  ought  to  cultivate  him ;  your  man  of 
conscience  always  feels  his  duty  to  be  the  thing  he  doesn't 
want  to  do.  In  this  case,  however,  Scott  fell  short  of  his 
duty.  He  carefully  avoided  Gardiner,  and  was  rather  an- 
noyed to  find  that  Gardiner  seemed  equally  anxious  to  avoid 
him.  Never  did  he  bother  his  doctor  for  pills  and  potions. 
Yet  Scott,  who  kept  an  uneasy  eye  upon  his  embarrassing 
patient,  could  see  that  prison  life  was  not  agreeing  with  his 
health. 

One  day  he  overheard  two  warders  comparing  notes  about 
614.  He  had  been  getting  into  hot  water;  he  had  smashed 
everything  in  his  cell,  and  finished  up  by  smashing  a  warder. 
"  My  word !  he  did  give  us  ginger.  You  never  see  anything 
like  it!  "  said  Warder  Barnes,  with  a  touch  of  surprised  ad- 
miration. "  It's  what  I  always  'ave  said  —  them  quiet,  ed- 
dicated  ones  gives  twice  as  much  trouble  as  the  others  when 
they  do  give  trouble,"  assented  Warder  Mason.  614  was 
now  in  the  punishment  cells  on  a  chastening  diet  of  bread 
and  water.  Scott  felt  more  than  ever  that  he  ought  to  find 
some  pretext  for  seeing  him,  but  he  didn't  do  so. 

Going  back  to  prison  after  his  trial  seemed  to  Gardiner 
like  entering  the  black  mouth  of  a  tunnel.  There  were 
the  unescapable  walls  on  either  side,  and  the  weight  of  a 
mountain  overhead,  the  horror  of  panic  pressing  up  behind, 
and  the  interminable  stretch  of  black  blank  darkness  through 
which  he  must  grope  before  he  could  hope  to  see,  far  off,  the 
first  faint  whiteness  of  deliverance.  Yet  the  first  days  were 
not  so  bad  as  he  had  expected.  Some  of  the  outer  light 
lingered  on  for  a  time ;  Lettice's  face  —  she  had  not  looked 
at  him  while  giving  her  evidence,  but  at  the  end,  just 
as  she  was  leaving  the  box,  she  had  turned  deliberately  and 
smiled  at  him  across  the  court.  That  look  went  with  him 
far  into  the  darkness.  It  was  the  nights  that  were  the  worst. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  203 

There  were  moments,  then,  when  he  had  to  hold  off  panic  by 
the  throat.  But  he  was  carefully  prudent ;  he  worked  with 
all  his  might  during  the  eight  hours  he  was  at  work,  and 
studied  with  all  his  might  during  the  sixteen  he  spent  in  his 
cell.  That  was  his  last  charge  to  his  brother :  "  You  send 
along  some  books  to  the  prison  library.  Grammars  and 
texts  —  I  want  to  learn  Flemish  and  Dutch,  and  I  could  do 
with  some  Portugoosh  as  well.  I'm  getting  a  bit  rusty,  and 
they  all  come  in  handy."  On  these  terms  he  found  himself 
actually  better  off  as  a  convicted  criminal  than  he  had  been 
as  a  prisoner  on  remand.  Regular  work  and  exercise  were 
by  no  means  a  bad  exchange,  even  for  the  high  privileges 
of  wearing  his  own  clothes  and  paying  for  his  own  dinner. 

March  came  in  with  balmy  days  of  relaxing  sweetness. 
The  sun  at  dawn  stole  into  his  cell  through  the  ground  glass 
of  his  window ;  and  by  standing  on  his  stool,  with  his  nose 
pressed  as  close  to  the  ventilator  as  it  would  go,  he  could 
even  at  times  smell  violets.  Persistent  little  friendly  flowers, 
they  had  found  their  way  into  the  prison  yard  and  niched 
themselves  between  the  stones  of  the  wall;  and  in  March 
every  tiny  seedling  was  a  knot  of  blue. 

"When  the  moon  their  hollows  lights, 
And  they  are  filled  with  balms  of  spring, 
And  in  the  glens,  on  starry  nights, 
The  nightingales  divinely  sing  — 
Ah !  then  a  longing  like  despair 
Is  to  their  inmost  caverns  sent." 

Gardiner  had  lived  all  his  life  too  close  to  nature  to  escape 
the  call  of  the  spring.  If  his  work  had  been  out  of  doors, 
in  the  garden  or  the  farm,  he  might  have  come  through 
better;  but  he  was  in  the  printing  room;  always  hot  and 
stuffy  with  glue,  and  his  exercise  was  limited  to  the  five 
minutes'  walk  to  and  fro.  He  lost  his  sleep,  and  in  the  long 
vigils  he  was  tormented  by  visions  of  Rochehaut.  He  saw 
the  great  solemn  autumnal  hills,  sallow  in  the  moonlight, 
the  leafless  woods,  the  white  crags  matted  with  ivy  and  with 
the  rusty  growth  of  ferns,  the  Semois  in  flood,  chrome- 
yellow,  surging  from  side  to  side  of  her  naked  valley.  He 


204  CONVICT  B14 

remembered  the  large  cool  rooms  of  his  home,  the  green 
light  filtering  through  the  jalousies,  the  white  cloth  blowing 
round  the  legs  of  the  little  table  under  the  pines  where  he 
took  his  meals,  the  sound  and  smell  of  the  coffee  machine, 
the  summer  apples  which  he  gathered  in  the  orchard,  "  faintly 
red  even  beneath  the  crimson  skin."  Like  many  southern- 
ers, Gardiner  lived  very  largely  on  fruit ;  and  one  of  the 
minor  trials  of  his  prison  life  was  the  prison  diet,  where 
fruit  and  vegetables  are  not.  Most  prisoners  suffer  from 
this ;  he  suffered  more  than  most,  and  could  less  afford  the 
steady  lowering  of  his  health. 

It  happened  one  day,  owing  to  some  alterations,  that 
Gardiner  had  to  change  his  cell,  and  was  put  into  the  older 
part  of  the  prison.  His  new  quarters  were  so  dark  that 
the  occupant  was  regularly  allowed  a  light  in  the  daytime. 
The  warder  in  charge  was  too  busy  to  see  to  it  at  the  mo- 
ment ;  next  day  he  promised  to  do  so,  but  forgot,  the  prisoner 
meanwhile  being  left  to  twiddle  his  thumbs  during  the  six- 
teen empty  hours  he  spent  each  day  in  his  cell.  When,  for 
the  third  time,  he  put  forward  his  submissive  request,  Warder 
Thomson,  a  surly  fellow,  happened  to  be  out  of  temper,  and 
told  him  curtly  not  to  bother.  To  his  amazement  the  well- 
conducted  Bi4  flew  at  him  like  a  fury.  He  slipped  out  just 
in  time,  and  blew  his  whistle  for  help.  614  meanwhile 
amused  himself  by  smashing  everything  smashable  in  his 
cell ;  he  kicked  his  tins  into  cocked  hats,  he  rent  his  bed- 
clothes to  ribbons,  he  tore  his  books  out  of  their  bindings  and 
strewed  them  about  the  floor.  It  was  a  glorious  smash,  and 
it  was  followed  by  an  even  more  glorious  fight;  for  directly 
the  door  opened  he  flew  again  upon  the  offending  Warder 
Thomson  with  the  leg  of  his  dismembered  stool,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  breaking  his  head  and  knocking  out  two  of  his 
teeth,  before  he  in  his  turn  was  "  coshed  "  by  an  assistant, 
and  finally  brought  to  earth.  For  the  space  of  ten  exciting 
minutes  Gardiner  enjoyed  himself. 

But  afterwards,  when  he  came  to  himself  in  the  dismal 
"  solitary  "  cell,  and  still  more  when  he  heard  his  punish- 
ment, and  knew  that  he  had  cut  himself  off  for  two  endless 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  205 

months  from  his  friends  —  then  the  cold  reaction  set  in,  and 
he  went  down  into  the  depths.  The  first  night  was  terrible. 
Panic  was  again  at  his  throat ;  it  did  not  succeed  in  pulling 
him  down,  but  when  the  dawn  came,  and  at  the  cheerful 
sounds  of  human  life  the  furies  shrank  back  into  their  shades, 
he  knew  that  he  had  been  very  near  —  something.  What  he 
feared  he  did  not  know,  but  he  did  know  that  if  his  fear 
got  the  mastery,  if  he  lost  his  self-command,  he  would  not 
be  fit  to  go  to  Lettice  at  the  end  of  his  term. 

He  lay  thinking  very  earnestly,  open-eyed.  It  was  per- 
fectly plain  what  he  ought  to  do :  he  ought  to  put  down  his 
name  to  see  the  doctor,  who  would  give  him  bromide  or 
something  to  settle  his  nerves.  And  there  was  more  in  it 
than  that ;  he  ought  to  see  Scott  about  another  small  trouble 
which  had  nothing  to  do  with  nerves,  and  which,  if  he  had 
chosen  to  put  it  forward,  would  have  been  a  mitigating  cir- 
cumstance in  the  mind  of  the  Governor  when  he  pronounced 
sentence.  Oh,  he  was  a  fool  —  he  really  was  a  fool !  Why, 
if  he  had  even  chosen  to  state  his  grievance  about  the  light  he 
might  have  got  off  with  quarter  penalty,  perhaps  with  none 
at  all.  Captain  Harding  wasn't  half  a  bad  old  chap,  he  made 
allowances  for  human  nature,  even  in  a  criminal.  But  would 
Gardiner  do  that?  Not  he!  He  had  stood  sullenly  dumb, 
refusing  to  defend  himself,  refusing  to  answer  a  single  ques- 
tion. It  went  against  the  grain  with  him  to  explain,  to  make 
excuses,  even  to  admit  that  he  was  ill.  Yet  could  he  stand 
another  night  like  the  last?  He  would  have  preferred  to; 
he  would  have  butted  his  obstinate  head  into  death  or  even 
madness,  sooner  than  bend  his  pride.  But  there  was  Lettice 
to  be  considered,  and  all  her  little  fads  about  standing  up  to 
things  and  not  running  away. 

When  Warder  Barnes  came  in  the  evening  to  bring  his 
supper  of  bread  and  water  and  collect  the  mail-bags  which 
he  should  have  sewn  (prisoners  in  the  punishment  cells  do 
not  go  out  to  work),  he  found  the  pile  untouched.  Gardiner 
had  not  done  one.  Barnes  pursed  up  his  lips  to  a  whistle. 

"  Hullo,  hullo !  now  this  ain't  sense,  Bi4-  Why  ain't  you 
done  your  work  to-day  ?  ;' 


206  CONVICT  B14 

•'  Because  I  haven't,"  said  the  prisoner.  He  was  sitting 
on  his  stool  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  head  in 
his  hands ;  he  reached  out  for  the  water  Barnes  had  brought 
and  drank  it  at  a  draught,  but  otherwise  he  did  not  stir. 

"  That's  silly  talk,"  said  the  warder  reprovingly.  It  was 
the  same  little  Cockney  who  had  admired  what  he  called 
Bi4's  ginger;  a  kindly  little  soul,  as  many  of  the  prison  at- 
tendants are.  "  You're  only  makin'  trouble  for  yourself. 
Ain't  you  had  enough  already?"  The  prisoner  made  no 
sign.  "  Come  now !  You  give  me  your  word  as  you'll  do 
your  job  to-morrow,  and  I'll  pass  you  light  this  time.  Don't 
want  another  week  of  it  in  'ere,  do  you?  "  Still  no  answer. 
"  Oh,  well,  I  can't  wait  all  night,  if  you  choose  to  be  re- 
fractory you  must,"  said  Barnes,  rather  short,  because  his 
kindness  had  met  with  no  response.  He  gathered  up  the 
untouched  bags.  "  I  shall  'ave  to  report  you,  that's  all." 

He  was  just  going  out  of  the  door  when  the  prisoner 
moved. 

"  I  say." 

*'  Well  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  do  those  bags,"  said  Gardiner.  "  My  hand's 
bad." 

"  Your  hand  bad !    What's  the  matter  with  it  ?  " 

Barnes  snatched  roughly  at  the  half -extended  fingers. 
They  were  torn  out  of  his  grasp.  "  Damn  you,"  said 
Gardiner  very  quietly.  Even  in  the  darkness  Barnes  could 
see  his  face,  scarlet  with  sudden  pain. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  'urt  you,"  he  said  gruffly.  "  I  thought 
you  was  malingering.  What  have  you  done  to  your  'and  ?  " 

"  I  don't  malinger,  and  I  haven't  done  anything  to  my 
hand,"  the  prisoner  retorted.  His  tone  was  short ;  he  was 
still  nursing  his  wrist  and  biting  his  lip.  "  But  the  fact 
remains,  I  can't  sew.  If  you  wouldn't  mind  putting  me 
down  to  see  the  doctor,  I  should  be  much  obliged.  There's 
my  ticket." 

"  Let's  'ave  a  look."  Gardiner  would  rather  have  put  his 
fist,  pain  and  all,  into  the  man's  face ;  he  silently  extended 
his  palm.  "  My  word !  that  gives  you  pen  and  ink,  I  lay," 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  207 

said  Barnes  with  critical  interest.  "  I  say,  I'm  sorry  I  hurt 
you,  614;  I  might  'a'  known  you  wasn't  one  of  the  'umbug- 
gin'  sort.  I'll  put  you  down  to  see  the  doctor,  never  fear." 

The  door  banged  with  the  complacent  decision  of  prison 
doors,  and  Gardiner  was  alone.  He  paid  for  his  suscepti- 
bility to  pleasure  by  a  corresponding  susceptibility  to  pain; 
Barnes  had  actually  made  him  feel  faint.  He  tumbled  off  his 
stool  on  to  the  floor  and  leaned  against  the  wall,  closing  his 
eyes.  Well !  he  was  in  for  it  now.  Would  he  be  able  to  keep 
up  the  same  virtuous  docility  in  his  interview  with  Scott? 
Lord  only  knew !  And,  thinking  of  Lettice,  he  smiled.  It 
was  she  who  had  dictated  every  word. 

Barnes,  good  little  soul,  was  pricked  with  compunction 
for  his  roughness.  Partly  on  this  account,  and  partly  be- 
cause, even  to  his  unprofessional  eye,  Bi4's  hand  appeared 
to  be  in  a  bad  way,  he  made  it  his  business  to  go  to  Dr.  Scott 
as  soon  as  he  could;  and  Scott  was  equally  prompt  in  re- 
sponding. The  rule  for  the  casual  sick  is  that  they  are  col- 
lected in  a  batch  from  the  gangs  after  the  "  cease  work  " 
bell  in  the  morning,  and  shepherded  to  the  doctor's  office, 
where  he  disposes  of  them  in  turn:  summary  jurisdiction,  a 
"  tot "  of  No.  Dash  medicine,  to  be  swallowed  on  the  spot. 
Bi4,  however,  being  in  punishment,  could  not  go  to  Mahomet, 
so  Mahomet  had  to  go  to  him.  Half-an-hour  after  it  had 
closed,  Gardiner's  door  reopened  to  admit  the  doctor,  with 
Barnes  in  attendance.  A  doctor  never,  in  any  circumstances, 
sees  a  prisoner  alone. 

Gardiner,  nodding  off  into  an  uneasy  doze,  scrambled  to 
his  feet  in  a  hurry. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me  ? "  said  Scott  in  his  curtest  tone, 
because  he  was  mortally  sorry  for  his  patient.  "  Got  a  bad 
hand,  have  you?  Let's  have  a  look." 

"  There  wasn't  any  hurry,  sir.  I  didn't  want  to  bother 
you  — " 

"  It's  my  business  to  come  when  I'm  called,  isn't  it?  I'm 
here  to  doctor  the  lot  of  you,  aren't  I  ?  You  do  as  you're 
told." 

With  that  Scott  plumped  down  on  the  stool,  and  took 


£08  CONVICT  B14 

the  hand  in  his  own.  His  touch  was  exquisitely  gentle. 
Gardiner  rather  wished  he  had  grabbed  at  him  like  Warder 
Barnes ;  but  he  stood  submissive,  and  submissively  answered 
questions.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  got  it  rather  badly  crushed  last 
summer.  Yes,  it  did  take  a  time  to  heal.  No,  I  don't  know 
that  I  felt  anything  particular  until  this  began  —  that  was 
about  ten  days  ago." 

"  Hurt,  eh  ?  "  asked  Scott,  with  a  swift  glance  up  from 
his  dressing. 

"  A  little,"  Gardiner  admitted. 

"  Suppuration  of  the  palm  is  the  very  — "  said  Scott. 
"  Don't  you  try  to  humbug  me.  I  know.  Damaged  the 
bone,  that's  what  you've  done,  and  you  aren't  by  any  means 
out  of  the  wood  yet.  That'll  do  for  to-night.  Now  let's 
have  a  look  at  you.  Your  general  health  can't  be  up  to  much, 
or  you  wouldn't  have  a  mess-up  like  this.  Any  special  symp- 
toms to  complain  of  ?  " 

"  I've  been  rather  off  my  sleep  lately." 

"  You'd  need  cast-iron  nerves  to  be  on  it,  with  your  hand 
in  that  state.  How  long  has  it  been  going  on  —  the  in- 
somnia, I  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  three  weeks  or  so.     Since  the  warm  weather  set  in." 

"  Before  your  hand  was  bad,  eh?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  And  the  hand  itself  went  wrong  before  you  indulged 
in  the  pretty  little  scrap  that's  landed  you  in  this  pestilential 
hole?"  said  Scott.  It  was  not  a  speech  he  ought  to  have 
made  to  a  prisoner;  but  Scott  was  far  from  always  saying 
what  he  ought.  Besides,  he  had  had  a  long  battle  with  the 
authorities  about  the  condition  of  the  old  part  of  the  prison 
in  general  and  of  the  punishment  cells  in  particular,  a  battle 
in  which  he  had  been  worsted,  and  which  had  left  a  rankling 
grudge.  The  Governor  had  called  him  a  meddlesome  senti- 
mentalist, which  was  true ;  and  he  had  called  the  Governor 
a  pig-headed  martinet,  which  was  about  equally  true. 

Gardiner  assented  with  a  nod.  It  was  all  against  the  grain, 
every  word  that  he  said,  and  every  drop  of  the  suppressed 
sympathy  which  he  detected  lurking  under  the  little  doctor's 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  209 

extra  aggressive  manner.  Nevertheless  with  another  heroic 
effort,  backed  by  another  thought  of  Lettice,  he  constrained 
himself  to  add :  "  I  think  perhaps  it's  the  indoor  life,  sir. 
I've  been  used  to  be  out  all  day  and  all  night.  Here  I'm  in 
the  printing  shop ;  it's  an  interesting  job,  and  I  like  it,  but 
I  think  perhaps  I  might  get  on  better  on  the  farm." 

"  You  do,  do  you  ?  What  do  you  suppose  you  know  about 
it?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Gardiner,  "  only  you  asked  me." 

"  H'm !  "  said  the  little  doctor.  "  Well,  I  can't  do  anything 
more  now.  I'll  see  to  you  properly  to-morrow."  He  picked 
himself  up  with  his  usual  fierce  alacrity.  Going  out  of  the 
door,  he  turned  to  add :  "  I'll  send  you  round  a  dose  in  half- 
an-hour.  Warder,  you  see  he  takes  it.  Young  fool,  going 
on  for  a  month  till  he  gets  into  this  state  —  he'll  throw  it 
into  the  slops,  if  you  give  him  half  a  chance! " 

With  that,  exit  Dr.  Scott,  still  grumbling. 

Gardiner  threw  himself  down  on  his  bare  plank  bed. 
"  O  Lord ! "  he  said  with  half  a  chuckle  and  half  a  groan. 
"  Oh,  Lettice,  it's  a  pity  you  weren't  the  fly  on  the  wall,  I 
think  you'd  have  enjoyed  the  scene.  Lord,  how  I  do  hate 
that  little  chap !  and  yet  I  don't,  you  know,  I  rather  like  him. 
I  wish  he'd  prescribe  me  a  cigarette,  I  bet  that  would  put  me 
to  by-by  better  than  all  his  boluses.  I'm  glad  I  said  what  I 
did  about  the  farm.  If  he  can  only  work  that,  I  think,  with 
luck,  I  may  pull  through.  He's  gone  away  breathing  out 
mercies  and  indulgences.  What  an  ass  I  am  to  dislike  saying 
these  things,  but  I  certainly  do.  Oh,  Lettice,  mi  prcnda,  alma, 
de  mi  vida,  his  de  mis  ojos  —  won't  I  make  love  to  you  in 
Spanish  when  my  time  comes,  and  won't  you  be  not  ductile ! 
—  if  I  do  stick  it  out  you  ought  to  feel  uncommonly  proud 
of  yourself,  but  you  won't.  Never,  never  in  my  life  shall  I 
succeed  in  persuading  you  that  it's  all  your  doing,  but  it  is." 


CHAPTER  XXV 
I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE 

Savage  I  was  sitting  in  my  house,  late,  lone : 

Dreary,  weary  with  the  long  day's  work : 
Head  of  me,  heart  of  me,  stupid  as  a  stone: 

Tongue-tied  now,  now  blaspheming  like  a  Turk; 
When,  in  a  moment,  just  a  knock,  call,  cry, 

Half  a  pang  and  all  a  rapture,  there  again  were  we!  — 
"What,  and  is  it  really  you  again?  "  quoth  I. 

"I  again,  what  else  did  you  expect?"  quoth  She. 

The  Householder. 

THE  gas  was  not  carried  up  to  the  attics  of  No.  22  Canning 
Street.  Late-comers  had  to  stumble  in  the  dark  up  the 
last  flight  of  stairs,  and  bark  their  shins  over  the  brooms 
and  pails  which  Beatrice  invariably  left  standing  about  on  the 
landing.  One  evening  in  April  Lettice  was  sitting  at  work, 
brow  buried  in  her  hands,  tensely  courting  the  Muse,  when 
she  was  startled  by  a  sudden  tremendous  clatter.  The  door 
burst  open  and  Denis  fell  into  the  room,  in  company  with  a 
mop  and  a  banister  brush. 

"  Dear,  dear !  "  said  Lettice  with  her  usual  inadequacy. 

"  I  wish  you'd  not  keep  an  ironmonger's  shop  on  your 
landing,"  said  Denis,  annoyed,  and  rubbing  his  knee. 

"  You,  you  —  you  are  so  violent ! "  Lettice  protested  in 
her  pianissimo  drawl.  She  went  outside  for  a  moment. 
"  There,  I've  put  them  all  away  in  the  cupboard,  so  you 
won't  have  to  break  your  poor  nose  when  you  go  home,"  she 
consoled  him.  "  Now,  how  nice  it  is  to  see  you  again  !  And 
what  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all  this  long  time?  " 

"  Selling  four  monoplanes  to  the  War  Office,"  said  Denis, 
with  the  simple  satisfaction  of  bygone  days.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

"  No !  have  you  really  ?  " 

"A  man  I  used  to  know  in  the  Sappers  came  over  to 
210 


I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE    211 

Dent-de-lion  and  fixed  up  the  order  last  Saturday.  It's 
been  in  the  air  for  some  time,  but  of  course  I  couldn't  say 
anything  till  it  was  settled.  Wandesforde's  awful  pleased. 
It's  no  end  of  a  leg-up  for  us." 

"  Four  all  at  once !  "  cooed  his  sympathetic  hostess. 

"Yes,  the  Government's  rather  keen  on  the  Air  Service 
these  days.  There's  a  lot  goin'  on  we  don't  hear  anything 
about  —  a  lot ;  and  they  don't  mean  to  be  caught  napping." 

"  Did  your  friend  tell  you  that  ?  "  asked  Lettice,  interested, 
as  always,  in  politics. 

Denis  nodded.  "He  did.  And  more.  He  was  askin' 
me,  among  other  things,  what  percentage  of  our  civilian 
flyers  would  volunteer  in  case  of  a  war." 

"Oh!     What  did  you  say?" 

"  I  said  all,  of  course  —  every  man  jack  of  'em  who  wasn't 
needed  as  an  instructor  at  home." 

"  You'd  go  yourself?" 

"Rather  so!  What  do  you  take  me  for?  I  should  join 
up  with  the  R.F.C.  at  once.  Oh,  it's  coming,  and  they  know 
it's  coming;  that's  been  obvious  ever  since  Agadir.  The 
only  question  is,  when.  I  hope  I  shan't  smash  myself  first. 
I'd  be  sorry  to  be  out  of  the  fun." 

He  lapsed  into  silence,  leaning  back  in  the  big  chair  which 
Lettice  kept  on  purpose  for  him,  his  long  legs  extended  half 
across  the  hearth.  How  many  months  was  it  since  he  had 
last  filled  that  place?  Lettice  had  not  so  much  as  seen 
him  since  the  Olympia  day;  but  neither  by  word  nor  look 
did  she  remind  him  of  the  gap.  She  was  an  adept  at  taking 
things  for  granted.  It  was  enough  to  see  him  sitting  there, 
the  same  old  Denis,  talking  in  the  same  old  way.  And  yet, 
not  quite  the  same.  Even  in  his  silence  there  was  a  new 
quality.  He  had  matured;  he  had  lived  through  the  wreck 
of  an  ideal,  and  built  up  his  faith  again,  steady  and  sure, 
upon  a  rock. 

Lettice  put  away  her  papers  with  delicate  neatness,  and 
sat  down  in  a  low  chair  with  her  needlework  —  not  a  green 
dragon  this  time,  but  a  pair  of  combinations,  which  she 
darned  serenely  under  the  masculine  eye.  Denis  had  a  nice 


212  CONVICT  B14 

mind,  he  would  never  see.  Now  if  it  had  been  a  certain 
other  person —  Lettice  made  a  graceful  figure,  soft  brown 
hair  and  hazel  eyes,  long  throat  and  little  head,  slight  droop- 
ing shoulders  and  slim  waist,  set  off  by  the  soft  gray-blue 
silk  of  her  dress.  She  was  fond  of  that  peculiarly  soft  and 
feminine  fabric  known  to  dressmakers  as  crepe  de  Chine. 
She  could  not  spend  much  on  her  clothes,  but  she  chose  and 
wore  them  with  that  French  fineness  and  perfection  of  detail 
which  she,  in  common  with  her  sisters,  had  learned  from 
their  foreign  upbringing. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  come  here  to  talk  about  German  inva- 
sions," said  Denis,  rousing  himself.  "  The  fact  is,  I'm 
rather  badly  worried  about  Gardiner,  Lettice.  I  didn't  like 
that  last  piece  of  news  at  all.  Did  you  ?  " 

"  You've  not  heard  anything  fresh  ?  "  asked  Lettice  quickly, 
her  work  dropping  in  her  lap. 

"  Not  a  syllable ;  and  can't  till  June.  That's  the  worst 
of  it;  it's  such  a  deadly  long  time.  I'd  half  thought  of 
running  down  there  and  lookin'  up  little  Scott  —  he's  quite  a 
decent  little  chap,  and  he'd  know.  But  I  suppose  it  wouldn't 
do." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  agreed  Lettice,  who  was,  as  has  been 
said,  a  dandy  in  affairs  of  honor.  She  made  her  funny 
little  pause  to  collect  words  before  she  got  rid  of  her  next 
speech.  "  I  suppose  if  it  had  gone  any  further  we  should 
have  heard  by  now." 

"Heard?" 

"  The  prison  people  would  have  let  us  know." 

"  Let  us  know  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  he'd  been  ill,  or  gone  off  his  head,  or  anything 
of  that  sort." 

*'  You  think  there's  a  danger  of  his  going  off  his  head  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  what  you're  talking  about,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Denis,  "  I'd  not  got  so  far  as  that."  He  re- 
garded her  thoughtfully.  "  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  how  it 
strikes  you,  Lettice.  I  can't  see  my  way  at  all." 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell,"  said  Lettice,  a  trifle  restless 
at  being  asked  to  explain  the  obvious.  "  He  must  have 


I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE        213 

been  off  his  balance  to  hit  a  warder,  mustn't  he?  And 
when  that  begins,  with  anybody  like  him,  you  never  know 
where  it  will  stop.  He  isn't  any  too  steady." 

(Certainly  there  was  no  one  like  Lettice  for  pulling  things 
off  pedestals.  Hitting  a  warder  — it  didn't  sound  nearly 
so  bad  as  assaulting  an  officer!) 

"  Well,  I've  known  Gardiner  five  and  twenty  years,  and 
I'd  never  have  called  him  unsteady.  Hard  as  nails,  more 
like." 

"  So  he  is  that  too." 

4<  Now  what  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  of  course  he'd  be  hard  so  long  as  he  hadn't  any- 
thing to  face  he  really  minded,  wouldn't  he?  And  till  this 
he  didn't,  did  he  ?  It's  what  you  said  yourself  —  he's  always 
been  lucky.  But  if  you  get  him  off  his  guard  he's  rather 
unusually  sensitive.  Look  at  the  way  he  feels  pain !  " 

"  I  never  saw  him  feel  pain.  In  my  company  he's  always 
been  brutally  robust." 

"  Well,  but  can't  you  tell  he  would,  by  the  set  of  his 
lips?" 

"  No,"  said  Denis,  "  I  can't.     I've  not  your  imagination." 

To  this  Lettice  made  no  reply,  unless  one  might  count 
the  slight  derisive  lift  of  her  chin.  She  never  would  take 
up  the  personal  question.  She  would  never,  if  she  could 
help  it,  say :  "  I  thought."  She  was  sometimes  driven  to 
say,  "  I  did,"  but  even  then  she  kept  to  the  bald  facts,  un- 
colored  by  her  personality.  Denis,  shifting  in  his  chair  to 
a  more  convenient  angle,  continued  to  regard  her  with  at- 
tention, in  which  now  mingled  some  amusement. 

"  Oh  ah,"  he  said,  "  you  were  there  when  he  damaged 
his  hand,  weren't  you?  I'd  forgotten.  How  long  was  it 
you  stayed  on  at  Rochehaut  after  I  left  ?  " 

"  About  six  weeks." 

"  And  you  were  actin'  as  his  secretary  all  that  time  ?  " 

"  Part  of  it." 

"  Of  course  that  accounts." 

"  Accounts  what  for? "  asked  Lettice  unwisely,  with  her 
little  air  of  distraction. 


214  CONVICT  B14 

"  For  the  sympathetic  insight  you  display,"  said  Denis, 
now  openly  smiling.  Lettice  had  chaffed  him  all  her  life ; 
it  was  a  new  thing  for  him  to  turn  the  tables.  "  He  swears 
it  was  you  sent  him  back,  and  I  believe  him  now.  You've 
eased  my  mind  quite  a  lot.  He  won't  go  under.  He  may 
knock  out  a  warder  or  so,  but  he'll  come  through  all  right  in 
the  end  —  with  such  backin' !  " 

"  Rubbish,"  said  Lettice  with  acerb  decision.  She  folded 
her  work,  got  up,  lighted  a  small  paraffin  lamp  and  carried 
it  outside.  Denis  watched  her  hang  it  on  the  wall  above  the 
stairs. 

"  Is  that  a  gentle  hint  to  me  to  be  off  ?  "  he  asked,  still 
smiling,  as  she  reentered.  "  Because  if  so  I'm  not  takin1 
any.  I'll  go  when  my  time  comes,  but  there's  ten  minutes 
yet." 

"  It's  not  for  you  at  all,  it's  for  Dot  O'Connor." 

"  For  Dot  O'Connor !  " 

"  She  always  tumbles  over  the  brooms  worse  than  you 
did,"  Lettice  explained,  "  so  I  give  her  a  light  on  the  stairs 
when  I'm  expecting  her  to  supper.  I'd  have  given  you  one, 
too,  if  I'd  known  you  were  coming." 

She  had  banished  Denis's  smile.  He  shifted  in  his  chair 
once  more,  but  this  time  away  from  her.  "  Dot  O'Connor !  " 
he  repeated  for  the  third  time,  in  that  altered  voice.  "  Do 
you  mean  Mrs.  Trent  ? " 

"  She  doesn't  like  being  called  that  now." 

"  Do  you  see  much  of  her?  " 

"  So  so,"  said  Lettice.  She  had  mentioned  Dorothea,  not 
to  get  away  from  Denis's  chaff  —  that  would  have  been  too 
cruel  —  but  of  set  purpose,  because  there  was  something  she 
had  to  say  before  he  went.  "  Will  you  stay  and  have  sup- 
per with  us?  I  think  there'll  be  enough  to  go  round,  if  you 
aren't  too  hungry." 

"  No,  Lettice." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't." 

"Don't  you?" 

His  tone  was  not  encouraging,  but  it  made  not  a  pin's  dif- 
ference to  Lettice ;  her  difficulties  came  always  from  within, 


I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE    215 

not  from  without,  and  once  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
speak  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men  would  not 
have  stopped  her.  She  did  not  imagine  that  she  could  move 
Denis,  but  there  were  certain  things  he  ought  to  know,  and 
which,  in  justice  to  Dorothea,  she  meant  to  set  before  him. 
They  would  not  move  him  now,  but  he  would  not  forget 
them ;  and  in  time  to  come  they  might  sink  in  and  soften 
his  judgment. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  forgive  her,"  she  pro- 
nounced. 

"  I'd  rather  not  discuss  it." 

"  Very  well,  don't  you  say  anything,  but  will  you  listen  ?  " 
Denis  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair.  "  You're  too  hard  on 
her,"  said  Lettice,  hitting  straight  and  hard.  "  You  will 
treat  her  as  a  woman,  when  she's  only  a  child.  And  you 
don't  realize  what  marrying  a  —  a  beast  like  that  does  to  a 
girl.  It  bruises  her  innocence.  It's  like  tearing  open  the 
eyes  of  a  blind  kitten.  You  can't  expect  her  to  see  right  and 
wrong  like  other  people."  So  far  beyond  herself  had  Let- 
tice been  carried  by  that  potent  loosener  of  tongues,  a  sense 
of  injustice!  She  went  on  with  the  same  resolute  candor: 
"  Besides,  there's  another  thing.  She  loves  you.  And  she 
can  love  ;  you  won't  meet  what  she  has  to  give  twice  in  a  life- 
time. I  know  " —  Lettice  spoke  with  an  effort ;  it  was  as 
near  to  an  avowal  as  she  could  go,  and  the  fact  that  she 
thought  her  cause  worth  such  a  sacrifice  added  tenfold  to 
the  weight  of  her  words — "I  know  she's  often  made  me 
ashamed  of  my  stockishness.  Are  you  prepared  to  throw 
all  that  away  ?  " 

She  had  finished,  and  she  stopped.  Denis  sat  silent,  star- 
ing into  the  fire  and  pulling  absently  at  his  forelock,  a  trick 
he  had  when  deep  in  thought.  The  soft  sounds  of  Lattice's 
business  did  not  break  the  stillness  of  the  room.  The  alarm 
clock  which  Denis  had  given  her  to  get  up  by  in  the  morning 
(Lettice  had  long  been  mortally  afraid  of  the  alarm,  and  she 
still  handled  it  as  gingerly  as  if  she  expected  it  to  explode) 
ticked  on  through  the  stillness.  It  struck  seven;  Denis 
glanced  at  his  watch,  and  got  up. 


216  CONVICT  B14 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said  confusedly.  "I  —  I'd  no  idea  it  was 
so  late." 

He  took  his  hat  and  stick,  and  Lettice  thought  he  was 
really  going  then  and  there,  without  another  word;  but  he 
thought  better  of  it,  and  from  the  landing  came  back  and 
stood  in  the  doorway,  visibly  struggling  with  himself.  *'  You 
—  you  mustn't  think  I  mind  what  you  said,  Lettice,"  he  got 
out.  "  I'd  always  listen  to  you.  But  I  can't  do  this  —  I 
can't  — " 

Lettice  looked  him  in  the  face.  "  She  would  have  some- 
thing to  forgive  you  now,"  she  said  deliberately. 

"  No,  she  would  not,"  said  Denis  with  equal  deliberation ; 
and  he  met  her  eyes,  fair  and  square.  "  But  that's  not 
anything  to  do  with  it.  It's  not  a  question  of  forgiveness. 
It's  —  I  —  oh,  I  can't  do  it,  Lettice  —  I  can't  explain  — " 

"  Well  — "  said  Lettice,  summing  up  with  that  sad,  vague 
word  which  looks  back,  unsatisfied,  over  the  past,  and  for- 
ward, unhopeful,  towards  the  future.  And  that  was  all  she 
learned,  then  or  for  many  months  to  come,  of  Denis's  feelings 
for  Dorothea,  of  his  wanderings  in  the  wilderness,  of  the 
manner  of  his  deliverance.  Not  till  many  months  later,  in 
alien  scenes,  in  unimaginable  circumstances,  in  a  different 
world,  did  he  reopen  that  subject. 

He  straightened  himself,  glancing  again  at  his  watch.  "  I 
really  must  go.  I'm  dinin'  with  the  Wandesfordes,  to  cele- 
brate, and  I'll  never  hear  the  last  of  it  if  I'm  late.  Wandes- 
forde  always  thinks  he  can  do  the  funny  dog  about  Irish 
people  —  silly  ass.  Wish  you  were  coming  too." 

"  Me?"  asked  Lettice,  opening  her  eyes. 

"  You.  It's  not  much  fun  sittin'  here  alone  and  thinkin* 
about  things  —  is  it  ?  "  said  Denis ;  and  to  her  wide  amaze- 
ment he  put  a  brotherly  arm  round  her  and  kissed  her  cheek. 
Lettice  turned  slowly  and  deeply  pink;  not  on  account  of 
the  kiss,  however.  She  took  her  lamp  and  stood  torch- 
bearer  to  light  him  down  the  stairs.  When  the  quick  mili- 
tary tread  had  reached  the  lower  landing  she  was  turning 
back  to  her  room,  but  a  quick  scuffle  in  the  cupboard  and  a 
breathless  voice  stopped  her. 


I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE        217 

"  Lettice  —  wait !  " 

And  Dorothea  scrambled  out  from  among  the  brooms 
and  brushes,  bringing  a  shower  of  them  with  her.  "Oh, 
bother !  "  said  she,  turning  to  stuff  them  back  unceremon- 
iously, and  precipitating  a  fresh  avalanche.  Lettice  found 
her  voice  again. 

"  You  —  you've  got  a  black  on  your  nose,"  she  remarked 
originally. 

"  So  would  any  one  have,  in  this  horrid  little  hole !  I'd 
just  reached  the  landing  when  your  door  opened,  and  I 
bundled  straight  in  here,  and  all  the  things  fell  every  which 
way,  and  I  had  to  clutch  them  up  in  both  hands  all  the  time. 
I  made  sure  you'd  hear." 

"  I  did,"  said  Lettice,  "  but  I  thought  it  was  Black  Maria." 

"  Well,  I'd  be  Black  Maria  if  I  could,  I  know  you'd  like 
me  better,"  retorted  Dorothea,  expending  the  last  of  her 
temper  in  a  spiteful  kick  at  a  pail,  and  slamming  the  door 
before  more  disasters  could  happen.  "  But  oh,  Lettice, 
oh,  Lettice,  isn't  it  glorious  news?" 

"  You  heard  what  we  were  saying?  " 

"  Well,  of  course.  How  could  I  help  it  ?  You  can't  put 
your  fingers  in  your  ears  when  you're  holding  up  six  brooms 
and  a  mop.  I  heard  every  word.  And  I  don't  care!  I 
don't  care  a  scrap !  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  " 

"Glad?"  Lettice  repeated.  She  had  not  known  quite 
what  to  expect;  certainly  not  this.  How  the  child's  eyes 
were  sparkling! 

"Well,  of  course!"  she  cried.  "Didn't  you  hear? 
Didn't  you  see  what  he  was  like  ?  Oh !  now  I  know  that's  all 
right  I  don't  care  about  anything  else  —  I  don't  care  what 
happens,  so  long  as  that  doesn't !  " 

She  flung  herself  down  on  the  rug  with  a  tempestuous 
sigh,  and  tried  to  dry  her  eyes  on  a  wisp  of  lace.  That 
proving  inadequate,  she  rummaged  through  half  a  dozen 
pockets  and  dragged  out  a  dingy  red  square  which  had  evi- 
dently been  used  as  an  oil  rag.  She  held  it  out  by  the  cor- 
ners. "Oh  dear,  I  must  have  stolen  Turner's  — oh  dear, 
I  wish  I  could  manage  to  hit  something  between  a  doily 


218  CONVICT  B14 

and  a  duster  —  never  mind,  a  hanky's  a  hanky,"  said  she, 
and  blew  her  nose  and  dried  her  tears  forthwith.  Then, 
looking  up  sharply,  "  Lettice !  why  don't  you  say  something  ? 
Aren't  you  pleased  too  ? 

"  O-oh,  oh  yes,"  said  Lettice  hastily ;  "  only  you  see  I'd 
had  time  to  get  over  it  before  you  came." 

"  I  shan't  get  over  it  —  I  shan't  ever  get  over  it,"  mur- 
mured Dorothea,  nestling  round  to  gaze  into  the  fire.  "  You 
don't  know  how  awful  it's  been  to  feel  that  on  me.  I'd  rather 
I  killed  him  than  see  that  woman  —  Do  you  know,  Lettice,  I 
do  think  there  must  be  a  God  after  all.  I  didn't  ever  use  to, 
but  ever  since  that  Olympia  day  I've  been  praying,  oh!  so 
hard,  that  He'd  save  Denis  —  I  didn't  see  how  even  God 
could  stop  him  then,  but  there  wasn't  anything  else  I  could 
do,  and  I  just  had  to  do  something.  And  now  you  see  he 
has.  He  didn't  tell  you  anything  about  how  it  happened?" 
Lettice  shook  her  head.  "  Oh,  well,  that  doesn't  really  mat- 
ter, it's  his  being  saved  that  counts,"  said  Dorothea,  relapsing 
again  into  one  of  her  boneless  attitudes,  and  smiling  rosily 
over  clasped  hands  into  the  fire. 

"  Did  you  hear  — "  began  Lettice. 

"  What  he  said  about  me  ?  Oh  yes.  Well,  of  course  I'd 
love  to  have  him  forgive  me,  but  I  know  he  couldn't  possibly, 
and  anyway  I  don't  matter  about,"  said  Dorothea,  her  voice 
softened  into  dreams.  "  It's  him  —  it's  him.  It  does  mean 
such  a  lot,  Lettice!  It  isn't  only  that  he  is  what  he  used 
to  be,  what  I  thought  he  never  could  be  again ;  it's  ever  so 
much  more  than  that.  Denis  wasn't  made  to  think  of  women 
as  he  thought  of  —  of  me  and  Mrs.  Byrne.  He  was  made 
to  marry,  Lettice.  Can't  you  see  how  perfectly  sweet  he'd 
be  to  his  wife  ?  —  yes,  and  to  his  boys  and  girls  too ;  how  he'd 
love  them  (I  expect  he'd  have  a  pet  little  girl,  and  call  her 
Letty),  and  how  they'd  all  adore  him?  He's  one  of  those 
men  who  —  who  only  truly  mellow  in  their  own  homes.  If 
he  could  only  find  some  nice  girl  who'll  love  him  —  no,  not 
better  than  me,  nobody  ever  could  do  that,  but  well  enough 
to  make  up  to  him  for  the  horrid  little  wretch  I've  been  — 


I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE         219 

I  wish  you  would,  Lattice,  but  I'm  afraid  that's  past  praying 
for." 

"  Me  ?  "  said  Lettice.     "  I  don't  think  that  would  do." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  Dorothea.  Lettice  failing  to  re- 
ply at  once,  she  whisked  round  suddenly,  with  an  eel-like 
twist.  "Why  do  you  say  it  like  that?  Why  aren't  you 
gladder?  Is  there  anything  wrong?  There  is,  there  is! 
Oh,  Lettice,  what  is  it  ?  " 

She  was  kneeling  up  now,  and  had  seized  Lettice's  hands. 
"  You're  making  me  spill  the  milk,  and  I  can't  get  any 
more,"  Lettice  warned  her ;  but  she  was  not  to  be  diverted. 
"  You've  been  worried  for  ages,  only  I've  been  such  a  blind 
donkey  thinking  of  Denis  I  haven't  noticed,"  she  cried. 
"  Why  did  he  say  you  oughtn't  to  be  let  sit  alone  and  think  ? 
What  did  he  mean?  Lettice  —  oh,  Lettice!  is  it  about  Mr. 
Gardiner?  Have  you  any  bad  news?  Oh,  don't,  don't  tell 
me  I've  done  that  too! " 

Lettice  freed  herself  summarily.  Dorothea  had  room  in 
her  little  head  for  but  one  idea  at  a  time,  and  therefore  was 
apt  to  overlook  what  lay  under  her  little  nose ;  but,  her  at- 
tention once  aroused,  she  was  keen  on  a  scent,  and  her  in- 
tuition, the  prerogative  of  semi-civilized  minds,  had  a  way 
of  landing  her  dead  on  the  truth.  Now  there  were  certain 
things  which  Denis  might  be  permitted  to  see,  but  which 
Dorothea  might  not  —  no !  not  on  any  account. 

"  There  isn't  any  news  at  all,  if  you  want  to  know,"  she 
said.  "  He  hit  a  warder,  so  all  his  letters  and  things  have 
been  stopped  off." 

"  But  isn't  Denis  going  to  visit  him  quite  soon?  " 

"  That's  stopped  too." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Dorothea  blankly,  "  oh  dear !    I  see." 

She  did  see,  only  too  plainly.  Oh,  what  a  little  donkey  she 
had  been !  But  who  would  ever  have  imagined  that  Lettice 

—  and  with  Mr.  Gardiner,  of  all  people!  oh,  how  could  she? 
She  did,  though,  no  doubt  about  that,  and  with  Lettice  that 
would  mean  a  dreadfully  big  thing,  the  whole  of  her  life,  and 

—  oh,  good  gracious !  how  she  would  simply  hate  to  have 


220  CONVICT  B14. 

any  one  know !  Oh,  she  mustn't,  she  mustn't  be  allowed  to 
guess !  All  this  passed  through  Dorothea's  mind  in  the 
space  of  half-a-second,  and  under  the  stimulus  of  that  last 
thought  she  pulled  herself  round,  with  a  mighty  effort,  to 
ask  as  innocently  as  she  could :  "  Did  —  did  Denis  know 
about  this  the  day  of  the  show  ?  " 

"  He'd  just  heard." 

"  Oh,"  said  Dorothea,  "  oh,  I  wonder  he  didn't  strike  me 
to  the  ground !  Oh,  how  wicked,  how  wicked  I've  been !  " 

There  was  nothing  visible  but  the  red  handkerchief.  Let- 
tice  looked  at  her  sharply ;  but  the  pose  was  so  natural,  and 
any  pose  seemed  so  foreign  to  Dorothea,  and  Lettice  so  much 
wanted  to  be  taken  in,  that  she  was.  Not  wholly;  but  she 
stuck  her  head  in  the  sand  and  refused  to  see  her  own  doubts. 
And  behind  the  red  handkerchief  Dorothea,  too  much  over- 
whelmed to  cry,  sat  among  the  ruins  which  she  had  pulled 
down  on  her  own  head  and  wondered  helplessly  when  she 
would  see  the  end  of  all  the  harm  she  had  done.  "  I  was 
so  happy  about  Denis,  and  now  there's  this !  "  Her  love  for 
Denis  had  been  a  sort  of  sublimated  selfishness,  but  now  she 
was  thinking  about  other  people  —  about  Lettice,  yes,  and 
about  Gardiner,  though  there  she  was  all  at  sea.  "  I  don't 
know  what  I've  done  to  him,  but  it  must  be  something  very 
bad  for  Lettice  to  be  like  this !  "  she  reflected.  "  But,  oh 
dear !  after  all,  what  should  I  feel  like  if  it  were  Denis  in 
prison?  And  what  would  he  feel  like  himself?  And  Mr. 
Gardiner's  led  such  a  free  sort  of  out-of-doors  life — " 

In  the  depths  below  a  bell  rang;  Beatrice's  feet  pounded 
up  from  the  basement.  They  came  on  from  flight  to  flight, 
up  the  bare  boards  to  the  attics,  and  ended  with  a  single  bang 
on  the  door.  "  Miss  Lettus,  's  a  letter  for  you !  "  Lettice 
went  with  her  soft,  unhurried  step  to  take  it  in.  She  car- 
ried it  to  the  lamp,  and  stood  arrested,  staring  at  the  en- 
velope. 

Dorothea  was  sitting  up,  her  dark  hair  tumbling  about  her 
eyes.  "  Oh,  Lettice,  what  is  it?  " 

"  From  the  prison,"  said  Lettice,  opening  the  envelope  and 
drawing  out  the  enclosure  with  a  steady  hand.  From  across 


I  SENT  A  LETTER  TO  MY  LOVE         221 

the  room  Dorothea  could  see  that  it  was  not  in  Gardiner's 
handwriting;  and  then  she  saw  Lettice's  face  change,  and 
her  heart  turned  over  in  her  breast. 

"  Lettice— I" 

"What?"  said  Lettice,  absorbed.  "  O-oh  no,  it's  all 
right ;  it's  only  that  he  —  he's  hurt  his  hand  — " 

Dorothea  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  said  her  prayers. 

This  was  the  letter  which  Lettice  received : 

DEAR  Miss  SMITH,— I  have  permission  to  write  you  a 
short  note  on  business. 

I  am  anxious  about  my  hotel.  It  has  been  in  the  hands 
of  a  caretaker  all  winter;  but  for  the  summer  season  I  had 
arranged  for  my  housekeeper  to  come  back,  and  most  of  the 
servants.  The  housekeeper  is  a  trustworthy  person,  and 
quite  competent  to  run  the  place  herself;  but  I  can't  very 
well  give  her  carte  blanche  with  my  banking  account,  and 
I'm  sure  she  wouldn't  accept  it  if  1  did.  What  I  want  is 
somebody  to  sign  checks,  manage  the  correspondence,  and  act 
as  figurehead.  Practically  what  you  did  last  year.  Will 
you  take  it  on  again  ?  I  should  have  every  confidence  in  you, 
and  of  course  it  is  your  proper  place.  As  far  as  I  know  at 
present,  I  propose,  if  it  suits  you,  to  be  married  as  soon  as  I 
leave  here  in  October,  and  go  out  to  Rochehaut  for  the  win- 
ter. Please  let  me  know  if  this  fits  in  with  your  views. 

I  must  apologize  for  my  writing,  but  I  have  been  laid 
up  in  hospital  with  a  touch  of  the  old  trouble  in  my  hand. 
When  I  come  out,  I  believe  I  am  to  go  on  the  farm.  The 
governor  has  most  kindly  remitted  the  rest  of  my  punish- 
ment, and  I  shall  be  allowed  to  see  a  visitor  next  month  as 
usual.  Will  you  let  Merion-Smith  know,  if  you  are  writing 
to  him  ?  Sincerely, 

H.  C.  GARDINER. 

Dorothea  at  first  had  turned  her  eyes  scrupulously  away ; 
but  they  were  back  now,  and  searching  Lettice's  face  for 
news.  That  face  wore  a  decidedly  queer  and  pensive  look. 
She  refolded  the  letter  with  careful  exactness. 


222  CONVICT  B14 

"  Well  ?    What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  O-oh,  he  wants  me  to  go  out  to  Rochehaut  and  look  after 
his  old  hotel." 

"Then  he's  all  right?  He  isn't  ill  or  anything?  Denis 
won't  have  to  be  anxious  any  more?  " 

"  He's  in  hospital,  but  it's  nothing  much."  Lettice  read 
out  what  Gardiner  said  about  his  hand,  and  the  description 
of  her  duties  as  well.  But  she  did  not  read  those  sentences 
of  barefaced  impudence  which  transformed  an  apparently 
decorous  business  communication  into  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage. Dorothea  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  And  you'll  do  it,  Lettice  ?  You'll  go  ?  Oh !  may  I  come 
too  ?  I  won't  be  intense,  truly  I  won't,  and  perhaps  I  might 
even  help  you  a  little  —  I  would  love  to  do  something  for 
Mr.  Gardiner,  to  try  and  make  up  for  all  the  harm  I've  done 
him!  You  are  going  yourself,  anyhow,  aren't  you?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so/'  said  Lettice,  with  a  long-suffering 
air. 

This  was  in  the  month  of  April,  1914. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

E 

Raise  a  chapel  with  forms  in  rows 

Under  the  competent  warders'  eyes, 

That  day  and  night  search  out  men's  privacies. 

God  is  too  soft,  but  a  warder  knows 

How  to  deal  with  the  prisoners  who  kneel  in  rows. 

Here  shall  you  starve  and  shame  and  break, 
Warming  the  cells  and  weighing  the  food, 
And  drawing  up  rules  for  the  inmates'  good; 
Build  in  their  souls  with  the  rules  you  make; 
Heap  up  the  stones  on  the  lives  you  break. 

The  Prison. 

AUGUST,  1914,  on  the  Semois. 

How  hot  it  was !  The  white  walls  of  the  farm,  its  squat 
white  tower,  its  steep  roofs  of  ink-blue  slate,  all  stood  out, 
crude  as  the  painted  scenery  of  a  diorama,  against  the  solid 
azure  of  the  sky.  It  had  been  a  fort,  this  farm,  in  the  days 
when  Belgium  was  the  cockpit  of  Europe ;  but  now  golden 
straws  protruded  from  the  loopholes,  and  sparrows  were  fly- 
ing out  and  in.  The  garden  had  its  roses,  the  lattices  their 
geraniums,  and  on  the  sill  a  sandy  cat  was  curled  up  in  a 
ball  with  her  head  tucked  under,  exposing  a  white  furry 
throat  to  the  sun.  The  tower  had  its  fringe  of  chicory  and 
trailing  pink  convolvulus.  From  it  the  meadow  fell  away, 
spongy  and  mossy-green,  to  a  brook  which  tinkled  in  silver 
cascades  down  a  crease  between  the  hills.  Beyond  the 
stream  the  ground  rose  steeply,  a  stubble  field  flaxen  in  the 
sunshine,  with  its  line  of  boundary  elms  and  its  peaceful 
scattered  sheaves;  on  the  sky-line  a  ragged  little  fir  wood 
raised  its  head,  dark  spires  against  the  blue.  To  the  right 
the  brook  sank  away,  twisting  round  a  corner  out  of  sight, 
and  the  hills  closed  in,  steep  and  wooded,  upon  this  little  nest 
of  peace. 

223 


224  CONVICT  B14» 

And  yet  —  was  it  so  peaceful  ?  Look  to  the  left.  As  else- 
where it  fell  away,  so  here  the  harvest  field  swelled  up  in  a 
lint-white  line,  firm  and  pure,  the  edge  of  the  visible  world. 
In  the  pale  turquoise  above  that  line  hung  a  cloud,  a  dis- 
coloration, spreading  like  an  ink-drop  in  clear  water.  Where 
that  cloud  now  hung,  yesterday  the  village  of  Rochehaut  had 
stood.  Contented,  squalid  little  place  with  its  steaming  mid- 
dens, its  perambulating  pigs,  its  church  squatting  like  a  little 
white-and-gray  cat  beside  its  miry  place!  Or  look  across  at 
the  opposite  hill.  Above  the  firs  another  drift  of  smoke  was 
diffusing  in  the  radiant  air.  That  was  the  direction  of  the 
Bellevue,  the  big  new  hotel  which  Madame  Hasquin  of  the 
farm  supplied  with  milk  and  eggs.  Or  look  at  the  farm  it- 
self. The  fowls  were  clucking  and  scratching  in  the  yard, 
the  cows  were  lowing  at  the  gate,  but  Monsieur  Hasquin  did 
not  come  to  drive  them  in  to  the  milking,  nor  did  little  Denise 
bring  her  sieve  full  of  golden  peas  for  her  pet  f antails.  The 
place  was  still  and  peaceful ;  but  it  was  the  stillness  and  the 
peace  of  death. 


There  are  no  daily  papers  in  a  prison,  and  no  news  from 
the  outside  world  is  supposed  to  reach  the  inmates.  It  fil- 
ters in,  nevertheless.  Gardiner  first  heard  of  the  falling  of 
the  great  shadow  from  a  laborer  who  had  got  six  weeks  at 
the  Summer  Assizes  for  beating  his  wife  to  a  jelly.  Out  of 
his  cups  he  was  an  amiable  soul,  ready  to  make  friends  with 
anybody;  and  Gardiner,  who  put  on  no  airs,  was  ready  to 
respond. 

On  leaving  hospital,  614  had  been  put  to  work  in  the  gar- 
den. His  hand  had  still  to  be  dressed  every  day,  but  by  the 
doctor's  orders  he  was  sent  into  the  open  air  to  do  such  jobs 
as  he  could.  One  summer  afternoon  he  was  weeding  the 
paths,  and  West,  the  wife-beater,  was  digging  potatoes  in 
the  adjoining  plot.  Gardiner  divined  by  his  important  looks 
that  he  had  something  to  say,  and  contrived  to  linger  long 
enough  for  West  to  catch  him  up. 

"  I  say,  matey,"  the  wife-beater  began,  in  that  lip-whisper 


225 

by  which  prisoners  communicate  under  the  very  noses  of 
their  guards,  "  'ave  you  heard  there's  a  war  on  ?  " 

"  No  !  you  don't  say  so !     Who  with  ?    Mrs.  Pankhurst  ?  " 
"  It's  Gawd's  truth  I'm  telling  — " 
"  Gammon !     Somebody's  been  kiddin'  you." 
"  Swelp  me,  they  ain't  then.     I  'card  Old  Ikey  talkin'  about 
it  to  Billy  Blood." 

Billy  Blood  was  Warder  Thomson,  so  named  since  Gard- 
iner had  knocked  out  his  teeth  ;  Old  Ikey  was  Warder  Barnes. 
His  name  happened  to  be  Ian,  but  the  initial  was  enough  for 
the  wit  of  the  prison. 

"  Well,  who  are  we  fighting,  anyway  ?  Did  you  hear 
that?" 

At  this  moment  West  discovered  that  Warder  Thomson's 
eye  was  upon  him,  and  he  sheered  off  to  the  end  of  his  row. 
It  was  some  time  before,  cautiously  regulating  their  prog- 
ress,  they   managed   to   come   together   again.     West   dis- 
charged his  whisper  without  preface. 
"  It's  Rooshia,"  he  announced.     "  Rooshia  and  France." 
"  Not  so  bad  for  a  beginning.     Who  else  ?  " 
"  Well,  they  did  say  somethin'  about  Injer  — " 
"  Great  uprising  of  the  native  races.     End  of  the  British 
Raj,"    said    Gardiner    with    levity.     "Let    'em    all    come! 
We're  in  for  a  giddy  time,  I  don't  think.     What  price  the 
British  army  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course  if  you  ain't  goin'  to  believe  me — " 
West  had  incautiously  raised  his  voice,  and  authority  was 
down  on  him  in  a  moment  —  or  rather  on  his  companion. 
"Now  then,  614,  none  o'  that!  Idlin'  and  mutterin'!  I 
suppose  you  think  this  is  a  rest  cure.  You  get  on  with  your 
job,  and  put  some  beef  into  it,  or  I'll  report  you."  And  for 
the  next  ten  minutes,  till  the  "  cease  work  "  bell,  while  West 
dug  potatoes  diligently  under  the  apple-trees,  Billy  Blood 
stood  over  614  and  counted  every  weed  that  dropped  into 
his  basket.  Gardiner  could  have  laughed  in  his  face.  For 
such  petty  pin-pricks  as  Warder  Thomson's  he  cared  —  not 
a  pin-prick.  As  Lettice  had  said,  where  he  was  not  ab- 
normally sensitive  he  was  wholesomely  callous. 


2S6  CONVICT  B14 

He  got  no  further  chance  of  speaking  to  the  amiable  wife- 
beater,  but  that  did  not  trouble  him.  Some  cock-and-bull 
story  the  fellow  had  got  hold  of  —  he  was  crassly  ignorant, 
and  stupid  as  a  hog.  That  evening,  however,  he  had  a  visit 
from  the  chaplain.  The  elderly  gentleman  who  had  fallen 
a  victim  to  Mr.  Gardiner,  and  whom  Mr.  Gardiner's  son 
commonly  alluded  to  as  "  the  old  foozle,"  had  resigned,  and 
been  succeeded  by  a  new  man  of  very  different  kidney.  The 
Rev.  and  Hon.  Noel  Dalrymple-Roche  was  not  more  than 
thirty,  very  big,  very  massive,  with  ashen-fair  hair,  a  regular 
profile,  and  a  cold  blue  eye.  He  had  been  a  Cambridge  row- 
ing Blue  and  sixth  Wrangler ;  and  to  these  mixed  accomplish- 
ments he  added  a  third  —  he  possessed  enough  driving  force 
to  command  an  army  corps.  A  misfit  in  his  profession, 
thought  Gardiner,  summing  him  up  with  an  amused  eye  the 
first  time  he  read  the  service;;  and  a  double  misfit  as  prison 
chaplain. 

It  was  his  first  visit  to  Gardiner.  He  came  in  alone  — 
the  chaplain  has  that  privilege.  The  prisoner  was  standing 
under  the  window,  slanting  his  book  to  catch  the  feeble  light. 

"  Reading  ?  "  asked  Roche,  stretching  out  his  hand  for  the 
volume. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I'm  very  fond  of  a  good  book."  Gardiner, 
ever  imitative,  had  adapted  his  language  to  his  surround- 
ings. He  could  not,  however,  thus  adapt  his  book,  a  small 
blue  volume  of  the  Coleccion  Espanola  Nelson.  Roche 
raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Can  you  read  this  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well.  One  gets  to  pick  up  something  of  a  good 
many  languages,  knocking  about  the  world." 

"You  come  from  Chatham,  don't  you?  A  sailor,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Ship's  cook." 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  you  sailors  can't  keep  off  the  drink," 
said  the  chaplain,  closing  the  book  and  laying  it  down. 
"  Why  don't  you  sign  the  pledge  ?  An  intelligent  young 
fellow  like  you  —  you  ought  not  to  be  here." 

Gardiner  stared ;  then  he  laughed.     "  I  think  you've  got 


"E"  227 

hold  of  the  wrong  pig  this  time,  sir.  I'm  not  a  drunk  and 
dis." 

"You're  in  for  beating  your  wife,  aren't  you?  I  hope 
you're  not  going  to  tell  me  you  did  that  when  you  were 
sober." 

'"Have  you  left  off  beating  your  wife?'"  murmured 
Gardiner  with  irrepressible  levity.  "  Neither  drunk  nor 
sober,  sir.  Couldn't,  not  possessing  one.  That's  my  next- 
door  neighbor  —  West,  615.  I'm  614  —  Gardiner." 

Mr.  Roche  was  not  at  all  disconcerted.  "  Gardiner?  "  he 
repeated,  consulting  his  notebook.  "  Oh  ah ;  I  must  have 
mistaken  the  number.  Gardiner.  Yes,  I  remember  about 
you."  He  looked  him  over  with  his  cool  eye.  There  was 
a  shade  of  difference  in  his  manner.  614  did  not  stand  on 
a  par  with  615.  Mr.  Roche  was  very  decidedly  not  a  demo- 
crat. "  And  how  much  longer  have  you  to  serve  ? " 

"  Four  months." 

Roche's  eyes  continued  to  dwell  on  him  with  an  expres- 
sion that  the  prisoner  could  not  read ;  it  was  speculative  and 
appraising,  and  seemed  to  refer  back  to  private  thoughts 
which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  present.  "  You've  never 
been  a  Territorial  ?  "  he  asked  unexpectedly. 

"  No,"  said  Gardiner,  a  little  surprised. 

"  Ah !  Well,  I'll  see  you  again  some  other  day,  Gardiner. 
•  At  present  I  must  go  and  pay  my  call  next  door." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Gardiner  dutifully.  He  be- 
thought himself  to  add,  as  Roche  got  up :  "  It's  not  true,  sir, 
is  it,  that  there's  a  war  scare  on?  " 

"  Who  told  you  anything  about  it?  " 

"  I  heard  something  —  of  course,  sir,  we  do  talk  among 
ourselves  to  a  certain  extent,  can't  help  it.  I  know  you're 
not  supposed  to  tell  us  news,  but  I  thought  in  a  case  like 
this  perhaps  you  might  stretch  a  point.  Is  there  a  row  in 
Ireland  or  what?  " 

"  There  is  no  scare,  and  no  row  in  Ireland,"  said  Roche. 
His  manner  had  often  a  touch  of  rhetoric.  "  There  is  Ar- 
mageddon. Germany  and  Austria  are  attacking  Russia, 
France,  and  ourselves." 


228  CONVICT  B14) 

"  My  hat !  "  said  Gardiner.  He  straightened  up ;  his  face 
lighted,  his  eye  sparkled.  "Oh,  my  hat!  What  wouldn't 
I  give  to  be  in  the  army ! " 

"  You  won't  be  the  first  to  say  that  to-day,"  said  Roche ; 
"  but  if  you  were  in  the  army  you  might  not  be  alive  to 
congratulate  yourself  on  the  fact  to-morrow.  The  Germans 
have  occupied  Luxemburg,  they  are  sweeping  across  Bel- 
gium ;  soon,  I  expect,  they  will  be  in  Paris,  and  then  it  will 
be  our  turn.  And  God  knows  —  Steady,  man !  What  are 
you  doing  ?  " 

Gardiner  was  clutching  his  arm.  "  Belgium  ?  "  he  gasped. 
"  But  they're  neutral !  " 

"  Germany  announces  that  she  is  not  to  be  bound  by  scraps 
of  paper." 

Gardiner  sat  down  on  his  stool  and  took  his  head  in  his 
hands.  Roche  had  heard  a  part  of  his  story;  not  enough 
to  explain  his  emotion.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  prisoner's 
shoulder.  "  You  wish  you  were  free  to  go  and  help  ? "  he 
said,  his  deep  musical  voice  vibrating.  "  Poor  fellow,  so 
do  I  — so  do  I." 

One  queer  by-product  of  the  war  was  the  general  eager- 
ness to  bear  one  another's  burdens,  the  Christmas  Carol 
atmosphere  of  good  temper  and  good-will.  In  prison  this 
feeling  worked  a  miracle ;  it  drew  together  prisoners  and 
warders.  The  day's  news  was  whispered  without  rebuke 
under  the  very  noses  of  the  guardians  of  silence ;  some- 
times they  even  whispered  it  themselves.  Roche  went  boldly 
to  the  governor  (he  did  not  lack  courage,  that  young  man; 
he  had  already  half-a-dozen  quarrels  on  his  hands,  in- 
cluding one  with  Leonard  Scott  about  vestments),  and  by 
special  permission  started  his  Sunday  service  each  week  with 
a  summary  of  news.  There  was  not  much  to  tell  in  that 
first  month.  On  the  6th  The  Times  gravely  stated  that 
mobilization  could  not  be  completed  till  the  i6th ;  on  the  i8th 
came  the  announcement  that  the  whole  Expeditionary  Force 
was  already  across  the  water.  Liege  was  making  its  gal- 


»-  229 

lant  defense ;  the  Russians  were  pouring  into  East  Prussia ; 
there  was  a  battle  near  Dinant  in  which  the  French  were 
victorious.  Next,  the  evening  papers  of  the  24th  baldly 
announced  the  fall  of  Namur.  Heart-shaking  news.  It 
shook  England ;  it  was  then  that  the  recruits  began  to  pour 
in,  thirty  thousand  a  day,  so  that  the  height  limit  had  to  be 
raised  to  check  the  flow.  All  these  things  Roche  reported 
to  a  congregation  which  hung  upon  his  lips. 

He  did  not  at  first  report,  because  he  did  not  believe,  the 
rumors  of  atrocities  at  Vise  and  elsewhere  which  were  cur- 
rent in  those  early  days.  Few  responsible  men  did  take  ac- 
count of  such  fantastic  nightmares.  They  were  whispered 
in  the  prison  nevertheless.  But  there  came  a  Sunday  in 
September  when  Roche,  making  a  little  pause  after  his  sum- 
mary, began  again,  gravely :  "  It  is  stated,  and  I  believe 
it  to  be  true,  that  the  German  army  in  Belgium  is  commit- 
ting, by  order  and  in  cold  blood,  the  foulest  abominations. 
The  old  university  town  of  Louvain  and  its  splendid  library 
have  been  burned  to  the  ground  and  the  inhabitants  mas- 
sacred. The  same  sort  of  thing  is  reported  from  other  towns 
and  villages.  The  men  —  peaceable  working  men  —  are 
driven  out  in  batches  and  shot.  The  women  are  given  to 
the  soldiery  and  then  bayoneted.  Children  have  been  shot, 
stabbed,  mutilated,  crucified.  In  the  little  town  of 
Dinant  — " 

There  was  a  slight  disturbance.  A  prisoner  in  one  of 
the  back  rows  struggled  to  his  feet  and  called  out  some- 
thing; a  couple  of  warders  popped  instantly  out  of  their 
sentry-boxes  and  hustled  him  away.  The  chapel  door  closed 
upon.them ;  Mr.  Roche  continued  his  address.  The  only  per- 
son who  recognized  the  brawler,  and  saw  the  significance  of 
the  incident,  was  Dr.  Scott ;  and  even  he,  though  he  had  heard 
of  the  Bellevue,  had  never  heard  of  Lettice  Smith. 

"  Is  the  doctor  within,  mistress  ?  " 
"  What  d'ye  want  him  for?  " 
"  I  would  like  a  word  with  him." 


230  CONVICT  B14 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  go  without  it,  then.  Think  I'm 
goin'  to  rout  him  out  from  his  breakfast  for  the  likes  of 
you  ?  No  fear !  " 

"  I'm  thinkin',  mistress,  he'll  maybe  no'  be  pleased  if  ye 
refuse.  The  thing  is  pressing  — " 

"  And  so's  his  breakfast  pressing,  ain't  it  ?  I've  no  pa- 
tience with  the  lot  of  you  —  comin'  trapesin'  round  here  at 
all  hours,  never  letting  him  get  a  bite  in  peace  — " 

"What's  the  matter,  Katie?"  asked  Dr.  Scott  himself, 
coming  out  into  the  passage  with  his  napkin  in  his  hand. 
"Who  wants  me?  Oh,  it's  you,  Mackenzie,  is  it?  What's 
brought  you  round  here  at  this  time  of  day?  " 

Chief  Warder  Mackenzie,  a  large  and  fatherly  Scot,  smiled 
his  acknowledgments;  he  was  one  of  those  who  liked  the 
little  doctor.  "  Well,  sir,  I'd  no'  have  disturrbed  ye  at  yrr 
breakfast,  but  I  thought  ye  should  know.  There  is  one  of 
the  men  took  sick.  Warder  Barnes  tellt  me  when  I  came 
on  duty  this  mornin',  and  I'm  no'  sure  what  to  think  o' 
the  matter  maself.  He'll  make  no  reply  to  any  words  o' 
mine ;  I  doubt  he  didna  hear  what  I  said.  I  thought  maybe 
if  ye'd  take  a  look  at  him — " 

"  Take  a  look  at  him  ?  Of  course  I'll  take  a  look  at  him ! 
Who  is  it?" 

"Bi4,  sir." 

"614!" 

Casting  down  his  napkin  on  the  nearest  chair,  Scott  came 
as  he  was,  bare-headed,  across  the  prison  grounds  in  the 
early  sunshine.  Gardiner  was  still  in  the  old  wing  of  the 
prison ;  as  his  visitors  came  into  the  gloomy  corridor,  after 
the  brightness  outside,  they  had  to  look  to  their  feet  to  avoid 
tumbling  over  the  orderly's  broom.  When  the  cell  was 
opened,  Scott  at  first  could  see  nothing.  He  made  a  step 
forward  at  random.  "  Take  care,  sir,  Barnes  tellt  me  he 
was  violent  the  morn ! "  said  Mackenzie,  brushing  hastily 
past ;  and  then,  in  gruff  but  not  unkindly  tones :  "  Now 
then,  614,  wake  up !  Here's  the  doctor  for  ye !  " 

There  was  no  answer;  but  Scott  could  see  now.  614 
lay  on  the  ground,  pressed,  flattened,  wedged  into  the  angle 


«E"  231 

between  the  floor  and  the  wall,  his  head  burrowing  blindly 
into  the  corner;  and  there  he  continued  to  lie,  a  mere  line 
against  the  wall  of  his  cell.  He  was  in  shift  and  breeches, 
but  his  bed,  which  should  have  been  folded  up  and  put  away 
hours  ago,  was  still  standing  with  the  blankets  tossed  about 
it.  Mackenzie  stooped  to  shake  him  up,  but  he  was  put 
aside.  "  Leave  this  to  me,  officer,"  said  the  doctor  with 
authority,  and  knelt  down  himself  beside  the  prisoner. 

"  Gardiner,  my  poor  fellow ! "  he  said  with  exquisite 
gentleness.  "Come,  come!  What  are  you  doing  here  on 
the  ground  ?  "  He  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Gardiner ! 
don't  you  hear  me  ? " 

With  a  shudder  which  seemed  literally  to  tear  him  away 
from  the  wall,  Gardiner  rolled  over  and  clutched  that 
friendly  hand  in  both  his  own. 

"  Scott,  Scott!  for  God's  sake  get  me  out  of  this  I " 

His  forehead  sank  down  till  it  rested,  burning,  on  Scott's 
wrist.  Moved  beyond  all  knowledge  of  himself,  the  doctor 
laid  his  free  hand  on  the  cropped  head.  It  was  streaming 
with  sweat ;  a  continuous  tremor  shook  the  whole  frame. 

"  Gardiner,  my  poor,  poor  fellow !  what  is  it  ?  what's 
wrong?  " 

"  I  can't  stand  it,  I  can't  stand  it."  The  words  came  in  a 
rushing  murmur,  barely  intelligible  in  their  ebb  and  flow. 
"  Get  me  out,  Scott !  oh,  get  me  out !  Say  it's  killing  me. 
Say  it's  driving  me  mad  —  it  is.  Say  anything,  only  get 
me  out.  You  will,  won't  you?  Oh,  God  bless  you!  I 
knew  you  would."  He  raised  for  a  moment  his  haggard 
and  exhausted  face,  and  crawled  a  little  closer.  "  Not  to 
be  let  off  altogether.  I  don't  ask  that.  Just  long  enough 
to  get  across  and  back  again  — I'd  give  my  parole,  and 
serve  double  time  afterwards,  to  make  up.  A  month  would 
do  it.  It's  as  easy  as  winking.  I  pass  anywhere  as  a 
Spaniard,  and  with  a  forged  passport  —  Ribeira  would  lend 
me  his,  I  know  — why,  I  could  do  it  in  a  fortnight,  less! 
Oh,  get  me  out,  Scott;  you  can't  keep  me  here,  you  can't, 
you  can't !  For  the  love  of  Christ,  get  me  out  somehow ! ' 

He  lay  panting  in  heavy  gasps,   like  a  dying  animal. 


232  CONVICT  B14 

Scott's  heart  sank  down,  down;  how  could  he  tell  this 
frantic  creature  that  what  he  asked  was  impossible?  Get 
him  out!  —  he  had  already  strained  his  influence  to  the 
uttermost  for  Bi4;  he  could  hear  Captain  Harding's  sar- 
castic little  laugh :  "  Your  pet  patient  again,  doctor  ? " 
Laws  are  not  to  be  bent  because  prisoners  suffer.  He 
could  not  quite  make  out  what  it  was  all  about,  or  why 
Gardiner  should  be  so  desperately  anxious  to  get  over  to 
Belgium ;  something  to  do  with  his  property,  he  supposed ; 
yet  this  did  not  seem  like  a  question  of  property.  Mean- 
while the  prisoner  was  off  again  on  a  fresh  stream  of 
supplications,  this  time  in  a  murmur  so  low,  so  wild  and 
incoherent,  that  Scott  had  to  bend  right  down  to  his  lips. 
What  in  heaven's  name  was  he  raving  about  now  ? 

"If  it  had  been  anything  but  this,  anything  else  on  earth 
but  this;  you  can't  keep  a  man  here  looking  on  at  this ;  eyes 
weren't  given  you  for  this.  Because  it's  not  nightmare,  you 
know,  it's  fact ;  they  do  do  it ;  there  were  those  stories  Denis 
used  to  tell  of  1870  .  .  .  and  you  heard  Roche  yourself  .  .  . 
all  night  long,  all  night  long  .  .  .  given  to  the  soldiery  and 
bayoneted  .  .  .  perhaps  its  happening  now,  this  instant,  and 
I  here,  oh,  my  God,  my  God,  my  God,  my  God!  —  and  if 
you'd  only  let  me  free,  I  know  I  could  have  saved  her !  " 

He  broke  down  suddenly  into  the  most  frightful  sobbing. 
"  Gardiner !  Stop  it !  "  the  doctor's  voice  rang  out.  The 
prisoner  quivered  and  cowered  under  the  word  of  command  ; 
his  voice  went  up  in  a  sort  of  hysterical  crow,  and  stopped, 
dead.  He  lay  like  a  log.  Scott  tried  to  speak  again,  and 
found  his  throat  dry.  So  that  was  it !  There  were  things 
in  this  war  which  had  tried  even  his  faith.  Neither  wounds, 
nor  death  —  secure  of  eternity,  he  could  afford  to  disregard 
the  sufferings  of  this  span-long  life  —  but  the  fate  of  the 
women.  It  did  not  seem  right,  he  could  not  reconcile  it  with 
his  idea  of  the  divine  justice,  that  evil  men  should  be  allowed 
to  stain  the  soul.  What  was  he  to  say  now  to  Gardiner? 
Platitudes  ?  He  had  nothing  else  to  offer.  He  was  helpless 
—  and  at  that  word  faith  sprang  up  to  claim  the  aid  of  om- 
nipotence. He  had  known  the  love  of  God  all  those  years ; 


"E»  233 

could  he  not  trust  Him  to  do  what  He  would  with  His  own  ? 

He  turned  to  the  prisoner. 

"  I  can't  let  you  out,  Gardiner,"  he  said  sadly,  giving 
him  the  truth  because  he  had  no  choice.  "  I'll  do  what  I 
can,  but  I  know  it  won't  be  any  good.  Here  you  are  and 
here  you'll  have  to  stay  for  the  next  four  months,  and  if  what 
you  are  afraid  of  happens  it  will  have  to  happen,  and  you 
will  have  to  bear  it.  God  is  the  judge.  Only  it's  up  to  you 
to  choose  how  you'll  bear  it :  whether  you'll  give  in,  as  you're 
doing  now,  or  whether  you'll  stand  up  like  a  man  and  fight 
it  out.  If  you  can't  save  your  friends,  you  may  be  able  to 
avenge  them  — " 

As  he  spoke  his  eye  fell  on  Gardiner's  hand,  and  the  words 
died  on  his  lips.  Those  contracted  fingers  would  never  hold 
a  rifle.  Scott  felt  sick.  He  got  up  from  his  knees. 

"  Will  I  light  the  gas,  sir  ?  "  asked  Mackenzie's  business- 
like tones. 

Scott  assented  mechanically,  feeling  for  his  clinical ;  but 
when  the  light  sprang  out  he  had  to  take  himself  in  hand  and 
fairly  force  himself  to  work,  against  the  most  intense  re- 
luctance he  had  ever  felt  in  his  life.  Gardiner  stirred  not; 
he  had  to  prize  open  his  teeth  before  he  could  insert  the 
thermometer.  A  gleam  of  white  showed  under  the  eyelids. 
When  Scott  felt  his  pulse,  the  hand  fell  back  inert. 

"  Puir  fellow,  he  looks  bad,"  said  Mackenzie  dispassion- 
ately. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  case  for  the  hospital.  You  did  quite  right 
to  fetch  me,  Mackenzie.  I'll  send  a  couple  of  orderlies  with 
a  stretcher.  When's  your  best  time  ?  I  should  like  you  to 
be  here  to  superintend." 

"  I'll  no'  be  on  duty  the  morn,  but  I'll  be  back  again  after 
dinner,  sir." 

"  Very  well,  I'll  have  them  here  at  one  o'clock.  Leave 
the  bed  as  it  is,  and  tell  Barnes  to  keep  an  eye  on  him  in 
the  meanwhile." 

"  Verra  good,  sir." 

Scott  was  going  out,  without  another  glance  at  the 
prisoner,  when  Mackenzie  touched  his  arm.  "  He's  lookin' 


234  CONVICT  B14 

at  you,  sir,"  he  whispered.  Scott  turned.  The  line  of  white 
under  the  eyelids  had  widened  slightly;  the  gleam  of  the 
pupil  was  visible.  While  he  watched,  the  lips  unclosed,  and 
the  dead  (indeed  it  had  that  effect)  spoke: 

"I  —  won't  —  go  to  hospital." 

"You'll  be  better  off  there,  Gardiner,"  said  Scott  very 
gently.  "  I'll  give  you  something  to  send  you  to  sleep." 

The  eyes  opened  a  little  further.  After  a  moment  the 
prone  figure  heaved  itself  up  and  struggled  into  a  sitting 
position  against  the  wall. 

"  I  won't  go  to  hospital,  and  I  won't  take  your  bloody  stuff, 

Impossible  to  convey  the  low  ferocity,  the  bestial  drawling 
insolence  of  voice  and  manner.  Scott  flushed  like  a  school- 
girl and  involuntarily  recoiled  a  step.  "  Hold  your  mouth, 
ye  foul-tongued,  ungratefu'  devil ;  the  doctor's  the  best  friend 
ye  have,  and  better  than  ye  deserve ! "  cried  Mackenzie 
angrily. 

"  Hold  your  own  mouth,  Sandy  Mackenzie,  or  I'll  knock 
every  bloody  one  of  those  gold-stopped  teeth  you're  so  proud 
of  down  your  bloody  throat  —  by  God,  I  will !  " 

Mackenzie  turned  purple;  but  before  he  could  get  into 
action  Scott  intervened. 

"  Let  be,  officer,"  he  commanded  with  authority.  "  This 
has  gone  beyond  you  and  me.  The  man's  not  responsible ; 
he  doesn't  know  what  he  is  saying." 

"  I  won't  go  to  your  bloody  hospital  —  I  won't  —  I  won't," 
cried  Gardiner,  his  voice  rising  to  a  shriek.  Scott  turned 
in  the  doorway:  Mackenzie,  staunch  U.P.,  was  less  shocked 
than  he  would  have  believed  possible  to  watch  him  make  the 
sign  of  the  cross  and  to  catch  the  muttered  Latin  of  his 
commendation.  If  ever  he  had  seen  a  man  possessed  with  a 
devil  and  in  need  of  exorcism,  he  saw  him  then. 

When  they  had  gone  out,  Gardiner  lay  for  some  moments 
passive;  then  with  infinite  toil,  steadying  himself  with  his 
shaking  hand  against  the  wall,  he  got  to  his  feet.  What  was 
he  going  to  do  next  ?  He  knew  that  perfectly.  He  was  not 


"E»  235 

going  to  hospital ;  not  he !  He  was  going  to  escape.  For  in 
the  terminology  of  the  jail  suicide  is  only  a  form  of  prison- 
breaking,  and  the  letter  "  E  "  is  inscribed  impartially  over  the 
door  of  the  convict  who  makes  a  dash  for  liberty  through  the 
fogs  of  Dartmoor,  and  of  the  wretched  youth  who  tries  to 
hang  himself  by  his  neckerchief  from  the  ventilator  of  his 
cell. 

Why  should  he  go  on  living?  Lettice  was  dead,  or  would 
be  by  the  time  they  let  him  free  to  save  her;  and  he  abso- 
lutely declined  to  lie  here  and  watch  her  die.  One  night  of 
that  was  enough.  Not  that  at  this  moment  Gardiner  cared  a 
straw  for  Lettice  or  any  one  else;  he  was  lower  than  the 
lowest  criminal  in  the  jail;  he  was  in  the  mood  to  join  the 
Germans  in  their  hellish  work.  Broken  with  that  night  of 
agony,  he  had  clutched  like  a  drowning  man  at  Scott's  hand, 
he  had  crawled  in  abject  abasement  to  his  feet,  imploring 
mercy,  and  had  been  refused.  "  Hissing  hot  with  burning 
tears,"  he  had  been  plunged  into  the  waters  of  despair.  The 
shock  was  too  great.  A  flaw  started  out,  running  right 
across  his  nature,  separating  him  from  his  former  self. 
Gardiner  had  gone  over  to  the  devil. 

Well,  if  he  meant  to  do  it  he  must  do  it  at  once,  before 
he  was  transferred  to  hospital,  where  his  bed  would  be  one 
among  a  dozen  in  a  ward.  The  best  time  would  be  between 
dinner  at  twelve  and  the  resumption  of  work  at  one,  the 
interval  when  the  warders  went  off  by  relays  to  their  own 
meal.  He  had  heard  through  his  torpor  enough  to  know 
that  he  was  safe  until  then.  This  settled,  he  lay  down  on 
his  bed  and  took  up  his  book,  presenting  a  disarming  picture 
of  tranquillity  when  the  orderlies  came  round  with  the  tins 
of  food.  The  flap  of  his  spy-hole  was  raised  just  as  he 
finished  his  meal,  and  he  was  glad  to  see  it ;  now,  in  all  prob- 
ability, he  would  have  a  good  twenty  minutes  to  himself  be- 
fore he  was  disturbed  again.  . 

Suicide  is  common  in  prisons,  and  prisoners  have  their 
own  ways  of  compassing  it.  You  may  hang  yourself —  a 
disagreeably  slow  death  where  no  drop  is  available.  You 
may,  if  you  are  strong  and  active,  throw  yourself  over  the 


236  CONVICT  BU 

wire-netting  that  guards  the  staircase,  and  be  dashed  to 
pieces  on  the  flags  below.  You  may  even,  if  you  are  very 
resolute,  hack  your  throat  open  with  the  blunt  piece  of  corru- 
gated tin  which  serves  as  a  dinner  knife.  Gardiner  had  his 
own  plan.  Some  time  since  his  gas  globe  had  got  broken, 
and  he  had  managed  to  secrete  a  splinter  of  glass.  Difficult 
to  hide  it,  since  every  prisoner  is  searched  twice  a  day ;  but, 
again,  they  have  their  own  ways  of  hiding  things.  It  is  on 
record  that  a  sovereign  has  been  found  on  a  man  who  had 
been  in  jail  for  a  year.  Gardiner  hid  his  bit  of  glass  under 
his  tongue.  It  was  small  enough  for  that,  but  it  was  large 
enough  to  sever  the  artery  in  his  thigh. 

He  turned  his  back  to  the  door  and  drew  the  bed-clothes 
round  him  to  hide  the  flow  of  blood.  Then  he  leant  out 
to  find  the  splinter  in  the  crack  where  it  lay  hid.  At  that 
moment  he  heard  the  tread  of  a  warder  outside.  They 
wear  list  slippers,  and  to  a  free  man  would  be  inaudible ;  but 
prisoners  have  cat's  ears.  Gardiner  drew  in  his  hand  to  let 
the  man  go  by.  Lucky  he  did  so.  With  the  usual  tre- 
mendous rattle  and  crash  his  door  was  unlocked  and  flung 
wide. 

"  Ye're  to  dress  yourseT,  614,  and  come  along  with  me." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
SHE  BEING  DEAD  YET  SPEAKETH 

The  dead  abide  with  us !    Though  stark  and  cold 
Earth  seems  to  grip  them,  they  are  with  us  still. 
They  have  forged  our  chains  of  being  for  good  or  ill ; 

And  their  invisible  hands  these  hands  yet  hold. 

The  Dead. 

"  YES,  Mackenzie  ?    What  now  ?  " 

"  I've  brought  ye  614,  sir." 

"Why  don't  you  show  him  in,  then?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  thinking  he's  no'  altogether  to  be  trustit. 
I  thought  maybe  if  ye'd  permit  me  to  be  in  the  room — " 

"Trusted?  Nonsense,  man!  I'm  not  made  of  glass. 
Bring  him  in  at  once."  And  as  Mackenzie  turned  reluct- 
antly to  obey,  the  Governor  added :  "  You  can  stand  in  a 
corner  and  see  fair  play,  if  you  like.  But  I  don't  think  a 
little  whippersnapper  like  our  friend  would  make  much  of 
it  if  he  tried  to  tackle  me,  eh,  Mackenzie  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  maybe  no,"  said  Mackenzie,  with  his  slow 
smile. 

Captain  Harding,  a  lean  Anglo-Indian,  all  bone  and  sinew, 
got  up  and  posted  himself  with  his  hands  under  his  coat- 
tails,  back  to  the  fire.  He  felt  the  cold,  and  there  was  a 
blaze  in  his  grate  on  many  a  chilly  summer  evening.  His 
room  was  comfortably  furnished  with  a  Turkey  carpet  and 
deep  leathern  arm-chairs.  To  many  a  prisoner  it  had  seemed 
a  glimpse  of  paradise.  Bi4,  however,  took  no  notice;  his 
apathetic  face  did  not  change,  only  he  edged  surreptitiously 
towards  the  hearth.  "  You  can  come  near  the  fire  if  you 
like,"  said  Harding,  eyeing  him  sharply;  and  as  Gardiner 
stumbled  forward  he  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  you  ?  Are  you  sick  ?  " 
237 


238  CONVICT  B14 

Gardiner  raised  his  eyes ;  in  their  darkness  shone  a  metallic 
feral  glare.  "  I'm  perfectly  well,"  he  said,  on  the  sullen 
verge  of  insolence. 

"  He's  for  the  hospital,  sir,"  said  Mackenzie  from  the 
background,  with  an  apologetic  cough. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  Governor  shortly.  He  sat  down 
himself,  at  his  table,  and  turned  over  some  papers.  "  Your 
name  is  Henry  de  la  Cruz  Gardiner  ?  " 

"  De  la  Cruz,"  Gardiner  interrupted,  correcting  him  as  he 
had  corrected  Lettice  —  how  long  ago  ?  —  only  in  those  days 
he  had  not  spoken  in  that  tone.  Again  he  edged  nearer  to 
the  fire.  He  was  cold  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones,  colder 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 

"  Ah !  Well,  Gardiner,  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  have  some  bad 
news  for  you.  I've  received  a  letter  from  your  father.  It 
is  against  the  rules  for  me  to  give  it  to  you ;  but  I  can  either 
read  it  or  give  you  a  summary.  Shall  I  read  it  ?  "  Gardiner 
made  no  sign ;  he  was  staring  sullenly  into  the  flames.  Cap- 
tain Harding,  after  another  sharp  glance  at  him  over  the 
top  of  the  sheet,  cleared  his  throat  and  began. 

"  '  My  own  darling  boy  — '  " 

The  prisoner  stirred;  that  address  touched  some  chord 
in  his  mind. 

" '  My  own  darling  boy,  I  have  two  pieces  of  very  bad 
news  for  you.  I  have  been  making  inquiries  at  Headquarters 
in  Town  from  all  refugees,  but  for  a  long  time  could  hear 
nothing  of  your  part  of  the  country.  Last  Friday,  however, 
they  wrote  me  that  a  man  had  come  in  from  Bouillon.  I 
went  up  at  once,  and  heard  the  whole  story  from  his  lips. 
Alas !  my  dear  boy,  I  am  grieved  to  tell  you  that  your  friends 
have  suffered  most  cruelly  from  Those  Brutes.  The  village 
of  Rochehaut  was  burned  on  28th  August,  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  the  men  were  massacred.  Your  friend  the  Cure  was 
cut  down  with  the  Sacred  Vessels  in  his  hands.  I  could  learn 
nothing  of  the  fate  of  the  Women  of  the  village,  but  it  seems 
that  in  the  outlying  farms  and  cottages  every  kind  of  abomi- 
nation was  committed  by  Those  Devils.  I  asked  particularly 
about  your  hotel,  and  oh  my  dear  dear  boy,  he  tells  me  that 


SHE  BEING  DEAD  YET  SPEAKETH      239 

it  has  been  burned  to  the  ground.  Those  Devils  Incarnate 
(God  punish  them)  first  stole  everything  they  had  a  mind  to, 
and  then  set  fire  to  the  building.  He  saw  it  burning  with 
his  own  eyes,  as  he  escaped  through  the  woods.  He  says 
that  all  the  servants  had  left  on  the  outbreak  of  war,  and 
that  no  one  was  left  in  it  but  a  caretaker.  I  do  not  know 
whether  this  was  your  little  friend  Miss  Merion-Smith,  but 
I  should  be  afraid  so,  as  she  has  not  returned  to  England. 
What  makes  it  particularly  sad  is  that  we  hear  (and  this  is 
my  second  piece  of  bad  news)  that  poor  Denis  Merion-Smith 
is  among  the  missing.  He  was  sent  on  a  bombing  raid  to 
Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  failed  to  return.  One  of  his  com- 
panions fancies  that  he  was  hit  by  Anti -Aircraft  fire ;  when 
last  seen  he  was  "  flying  rather  wild,"  but  his  machine  seemed 
to  be  still  under  control.  Oh  my  dear  dear  boy,  my  heart 
bleeds  for  you.  I  wish  I  could  see  you.  These  senseless 
rules  and  regulations  make  my  blood  boil,  in  times  like  these. 
I  have  written  to  the  Home  Secretary,  but  he  is  no  good  at 
all;  he  seems  incapable  of  understanding  the  simplest  thing. 
I  wonder  what  we  pay  him  for.  It  is  too,  too  dreadful  to 
think  of  the  fate  of  that  poor  girl,  and  of  poor  Denis.  This 
awful  war  is  breaking  all  our  hearts.  May  God  never  for- 
give the  wicked  Author  of  it.  Tom  writes  that  he  is  "  going 
strong  " —  whatever  that  may  mean ;  I  wish  he  would  not  use 
this  American  slang.  Of  course  he  does  not  tell  me  where 
he  is,  but  I  believe  it  is  somewhere  on  the  River  Aisne.  God 
keep  and  comfort  you,  my  own  dear  boy.  From  your  lov- 
ing Father.' 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Captain  Harding,  folding  the  sheet. 

Gardiner's  lips  moved;  he  muttered  something  inaudible. 
"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  the  Governor  sharply.  The  murmur 
was  repeated ;  it  sounded  like,  "  I  killed  " —  him  or  her,  un- 
certain which.  Captain  Harding  could  make  nothing  of  it. 
He  looked  dubiously  at  the  hunched-up  figure,  crouching  into 
itself,  staring  vacantly  at  the  carpet.  Scott's  pet  patient  — 
yes ;  but  it  was  a  hard  case,  no  doubt  of  it.  "  You  must  keep 
up  a  good  heart,"  he  said  kindly.  "  Many  of  the  missing 
turn  up  again  safe  and  sound,  you  know ;  and  I've  heard  that 


240  CONVICT  B14 

flying  officers  are  particularly  well  treated  by  the  Germans 
when  they  fall  into  their  hands.  No  use  going  to  meet 
trouble  half-way  and  believing  the  worst  before  you  know 
it's  happened." 

"  I  killed  her,"  muttered  the  prisoner  again. 
"  You  what  ?  " 

"  I  killed  her.  I  sent  her  out  there  to  her  death.  I  killed 
her—" 

Harding  laid  hands  on  the  chair  and  wheeled  it  round  to 

the  light.     "  What 's  that  ?     What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Gardiner.     His  eyes  blinked  stupidly  in 

the  sunshine.     "  May  I  —  may  I  have  my  letter  ?  "  he  asked, 

half  stretching  out  his  hand. 

"  I'm  afraid  that's  against  the  rules,  but  I  can  read  it  to 
you  again,  if  you  like." 

The  hand  dropped. 

"  Is  there  any  question  you  want  to  ask  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gardiner ;  adding,  as  an  afterthought :  "  No, 
thank  you,  sir."  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  used  the  title 
of  respect.  Certainly  a  hard  case,  and  the  Governor  was 
very  sorry  for  him,  and  not  quite  satisfied ;  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done.  He  looked  at  Mackenzie,  and  Mackenzie 
touched  Bi4's  arm.  Stumbling  to  his  feet,  he  got  out  of  the 
room  and  down  the  passages  somehow  to  his  cell,  where  he 
dropped  face  downwards  on  the  bed. 

"  I'll  be  round  in  twa-three  minutes  to  take  you  to  hos- 
pital," said  Mackenzie,  preparing  to  withdraw. 

"  Mackenzie." 

"  Well  ?     What  ails  ye  now  ?  " 

The  prisoner  had  struggled  up  on  his  elbow.  "  Tell  Dr. 
Scott  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  Ye'll  be  seein'  him  in  half-an-hour." 

"  I  want  to  see  him  in  half-a-minute." 

"  He's  awa'  at  his  lunch,"  said  the  warder.  "  I've  dis- 
turrbed  him  at  his  breakfast  for  ye  already  the  morn ;  can't 
you  let  him  get  a  bite  in  peace?  I  wouldna  be  hard  on  ye, 
but  ye  must  be  reasonable." 

"Mackenzie!" 


SHE  BEING  DEAD  YET  SPEAKETH      241 

Again  the  prisoner  called  him  back.     He  had  swung  his 
feet  to  the  ground;  he  looked  wild  and  dangerous  enough 
for  anything.     "You  bring  Scott  along.    You'll  be  sorry 
for  it  if  you  don't." 
"  I  tell  you  he's  awa  at  his  — " 

"  Man,  man !  What's  that  to  do  with  it  ?  You  fetch  him 
here  double-quick  time,  or  I  tell  you  you'll  be  sorry  for  it  — 
you'll  be  sorry  all  the  days  of  your  life!  Will  you  go?" 

Mackenzie  caught  that  green  glitter,  and  he  did  not  like 
it;  he  did  not  like  it  at  all.  It  sent  him  off,  shaking  his 
head,  hotfoot  to  the  doctor's  quarters,  to  face  again  the  re- 
doubtable Katie.  Meanwhile  the  prisoner  sprang  up  and 
paced  his  cell,  up  and  down,  with  the  strength  of  fever. 
When  the  doctor  came  in,  he  was  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  his  stool  held  by  the  leg  in  one  hand,  in  the  other 
a  small  object  which  he  thrust  violently  forward. 

"  Here,  Scott,  catch  hold  of  this !  You've  been  long 
enough  coming  —  you're  only  just  in  time !  " 

Scott  looked  down  at  the  splinter  of  glass.  "  So  that  was 
"how  you  meant  to  do  it,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  was  how  I  meant  to  do  it.  And  don't  you  let 
me  get  hold  of  it  again,  and  don't  you  send  me  to  that  damned 
hospital  of  yours,  unless  you  want  murder  done.  I've  had 
about  as  much  as  I  can  stick.  I  won't  be  herded  with  a  mob 
of  filthy  jail-birds.  Keep  off  —  if  you  lay  a  finger  on  me 
I'll  bash  your  brains  out  against  that  wall !  " 

Scott  with  absolute  fearlessness  stepped  forward  and 
caught  his  wrist. 

"  Drop  that  stool  —  drop  it !  That's  better.  Now,  listen 
to  me.  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you  here  —  wait !  I've  not 
done  —  and  I'm  not  going  to  send  you  to  hospital  either. 
You'll  go  to  the  padded  cell." 

"  The  padded  cell  ?  "  echoed  Gardiner,  "  the  padded  cell  ? 
I  never  thought  of  that.  You  have  some  sense  in  your 
head,  Scott.  See  here  "—  his  face  had  changed,  relaxed  into 
something  like  humanity;  he  seized  the  doctor's  hand  and 
spoke  rapidly,  earnestly  — "  I'm  sane  for  the  moment ;  for 
heaven's  sake  listen  to  what  I  say !  Five  minutes  ago  I  was 


242  CONVICT  B14 

crazy  to  kill  myself.  Five  minutes  hence  I  shall  want  to 
again,  and, if  by  any  hook  or  crook  I  can,  I  shall.  So  you 
put  me  in  that  padded  cell,  and  you  keep  me  there !  Don't 
you  let  me  out  —  don't  you  let  me  out  on  any  pretext  what- 
ever! I  shall  beg  and  pray  you,  I  shall  howl  like  all  the 
devils  in  hell,  I  shall  invent  excuses  I  haven't  the  ingenuity 
to  imagine  now,  but  whatever  I  say  or  do,  don't  you  listen ! 
It's  these  next  twelve  hours  I'm  afraid  of.  If  you'll  keep 
me  in  there,  hermetically  sealed,  till  to-morrow  morning,  I 
shall  be  all  right.  Will  you  do  it  ?  "  Scott  did  not  answer ; 
he  had  drawn  him  towards  the  window,  and  was  looking  and 
looking  into  his  eyes  as  if  he  would  have  probed  his  inmost 
soul.  "  It's  a  risk  ?  Yes,  but  it's  that  either  way.  Let  me 
go  down  fighting,  Scott !  "  Still  no  reply.  "  You  a  Chris- 
tian and  afraid !  "  Gardiner  scoffed. 

"  No,  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  the  little  man  curtly.  He  re- 
leased him.  "  I'll  do  it." 

"  You  will  ?    You  swear  you  won't  let  me  go  ?  " 

"  My  word's  my  bond." 

He  went  out.  The  prisoner  fell  back  on  his  pallet  and 
threw  his  arm  across  his  eyes.  "  Now  I've  done  it ! "  he 
murmured  with  a  long  breath.  "  Now  I've  burned  my  boats ! 
Are  you  satisfied,  Lettice?  My  life  for  yours:  is  it  a  fair 
exchange  ?  You  always  wanted  this  —  well,  fair  or  not,  it's 
the  best  I  can  do.  .  .  ." 

The  padded  cell,  for  weak-minded  criminals,  resembles  on 
a  large  scale  one  of  those  lined  work-boxes  which  young 
ladies  used  in  the  seventies,  except  that  stout  yellow  canvas 
takes  the  place  of  quilted  satin.  Padding  a  yard  thick  covers 
walls  and  floor.  There  is  a  small  window  under  the  ceiling ; 
a  squint,  as  usual,  in  the  door;  and  another,  high  up,  com- 
manding every  corner  of  the  cell.  No  furniture,  not  so 
much  as  a  bed. 

Prisoners  have  been  known  to  get  their  nails  under  the 
canvas  and  rip  it  from  the  walls,  at  a  cost  to  the  British  tax- 
payer of  some  sixty  pounds.  Bi4  did  not  do  that ;  but  within 
half-an-hour  he  was  raving,  as  he  had  foretold.  Warders 
passing  outside  could  hear  the  thump  of  his  body  flinging 


SHE  BEING  DEAD  YET  SPEAKETH      248 

itself  against  the  padded  door,  and  his  shrieks  filled  the  ward. 
There  was  nothing  out  of  the  way:  prisoners  were  often 
brought  in  raving  in  delirium  tremens,  whose  yells  were  quite 
as  loud,  and  their  language  a  shade  worse.  The  man  on  duty 
contented  himself  with  periodic  peeps  to  make  sure  that  614 
was  not  damaging  the  canvas. 

Scott  was  unable  to  listen  with  the  same  equanimity. 
Yet  he  could  not  keep  away ;  again  and  again,  on  one  pre- 
text or  another,  back  he  came  to  Ward  B.  Once  he  peeped 
through  the  spy-hole,  just  before  he  went  off  for  the  night. 
The  prisoner  was  crouching  under  the  door ;  his  cries  had  for 
the  moment  sunk  into  whimpers :  "  Scott,  let  me  out  —  let 
me  out,  Scott !  "  Scott  fled  from  the  place  as  though  the 
devil  were  at  his  heels. 

Returning  at  daybreak,  he  entered  the  prison  just  as 
breakfast  was  going  round.  Chief  Warder  Mackenzie 
greeted  him  with  a  cheerful  good-day. 

"  Ye're  early  abroad,  sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  Scott ;  "  I  was  restless.  What  sort  of  a 
night  have  you  had  with  614,  eh?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  they  do  tell  me  he  was  terrible  noisy  at  first, 
but  he's  quieted  down  a  bittie  now.  Maybe  ye'll  like  to  take 
a  look  at  him  ?  " 

"  I  should,"  said  Scott,  falling  in  beside  the  big  man. 
Mackenzie  walked  along,  discoursing  amiably  about  the  war 
and  his  nephew  in  the  Black  Watch,  without  seeming  to 
notice  his  companion's  silence.  All  was  quiet  in  Ward  B ; 
nobody  shrieked  or  moaned  any  more. 

"  He  won't  have  much  appetite  for  his  breakfast,  I'm 
thinkin',"  remarked  the  warder,  leisurely  unlocking  the  door. 
"Ye'll  go  in,  sir?" 

Scott  stepped  lightly  across  the  spongy  canvas.  614  was 
lying  in  a  heap  under  the  window,  his  arm  across  his  face ; 
he  did  not  stir.  Scott's  heart  gave  one  great  throb  and 
seemed  to  stop ;  he  drew  away  the  arm. 

Gardiner's  dark  eyes  were  looking  up  at  him  with  a  faint 
gleam ;  his  voice  came,  the  mere  ghost  of  a  whisper. 

"  Sucks  for  —  Satan  —  this  time  —  doctor!  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES 

Oh!  la  foule  joyeuse, 

Le  soir, 

Autour  des  tables,  sur  les  trottoirs, 

Et  la  biere  mousseuse 

Debordant  des  yerres, 

Et  les  longues  pipes  de  terre 

Dont  on  suit  des  yeux  la  fumee, 

Le  coeur  rejoui,  Tame  apaisee ! 

Combien  de  temps,  combien  de  temps, 

O  ma  Patrie, 

Tendras-tu  patiemment 

Dans  la  nuit 

Tes  mains  meurtries? 

EMILE  CAMMAERTS. 

LETTICE  and  Dorothea  arrived  at  the  Bellevue  in  May.  By 
the  end  of  July  their  guests  were  scattering  like  autumn 
leaves,  and  on  the  day  of  the  ultimatum  Lettice  took  matters 
into  her  own  hands,  sent  off  the  servants  and  shut  the  hotel. 
She  did  not  in  the  least  want  to  follow  them  —  Lettice  was 
not  fond  of  running  away ;  but  for  Dorothea's  sake  she  was 
making  up  her  mind  to  that  sacrifice,  when  she  discovered 
that  Dorothea  herself  had  other  views.  She  go  and  hide? 
Rather  not!  She  was  going  to  stay  and  see  the  fun.  (At 
that  time  it  was  still  possible  for  the  Dorotheas  of  this  world 
to  talk  of  seeing  the  fun.) 

"  I  can  nurse,  you  know,"  she  said,  sitting  on  the  dresser 
in  the  big  deserted  kitchen,  her  hands  in  her  tweed  pockets, 
her  brown  legs  swinging,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  agreeable 
excitement.  "  I've  got  every  old  certificate  and  medal  the 
Red  Cross  people  give.  It  was  the  one  thing  I  was  let  do  as 
a  kid  —  go  to  nursing  lectures;  uncle  was  always  fancying 
himself  ill,  you  see,  and  I  had  to  look  after  him.  Oh  yes,  I 
244 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES  245 

can  nurse  like  billy-o !  Go  back  to  England  and  knit  socks  ? 
Not  for  this  child  !  " 

But,  but  —  but  it's  not  safe,"  objected  Lettice,  pensively 
rubbing  her  nose. 

"Safe?  Nonsense!  What  do  you  suppose  is  going  to 
happen  to  us?  The  Germans  will  never  get  within  miles  of 
this,  and  even  suppose  they  did  we're  non-combatants  —  we 
should  be  all  right.  This  isn't  the  Dark  Ages.  Besides,  if 
we  run  away,  who's  to  look  after  the  hotel  ? " 

Lettice  said  nothing. 

"  Suppose  they  quartered  soldiers  here  ?  It's  just  the 
place  they  might.  The  poilu's  a  darling,  and  I  love  him 
madly,  but  what  do  you  think  Mr.  Gardiner's  furniture  would 
be  like  after  a  week  of  him?  There  simply  must  be  some- 
body to  clear  the  rooms  and  see  to  things.  You  sent  over 
specially  to  be  in  charge,  and  then  want  to  go  and  run  away ! 
I'm  surprised  at  you,  Lettice.  But  whoever  else  shows  pu- 
pusilianinimity  "  (there  were  some  words  Dorothea  really 
could  not  get!),  "/  shall  always  be  found  ready  to  die  at 
my  post." 

"  But  — "  said  Lettice.  Dorothea  jumped  down  in  a  whirl- 
wind and  shook  her  by  the  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  pooh !  I  won't  go  home  —  I  won't  —  I  won't  —  so 
now !  Do  you  understand  that  ?  And  you  know  perfectly 
well  you  don't  want  to  either.  As  if  I  couldn't  see !  You're 
saying  this  simply  for  my  sake;  and  now  you  know  I'm 
not  going  in  any  case  you  may  as  well  give  in  without  any 
more  fuss.  I'm  tired  of  arguing  with  four  buts  and  a 
grunt !  " 

"Well—"  said  Lettice,  varying  her  formula  with  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  of  smile,  and  allowing  herself  to  pretend 
to  be  over-persuaded. 

So  they  stayed. 

In  common  with  many  other  people,  Dorothea  was  not 
happy  in  her  predictions.  On  Friday,  2ist  August,  a  French 
army  passed  through  Bouillon.  On  Saturday  a  battle  was 
fought  near  Maissin,  in  which  twelve  thousand  Germans 
were  put  out  of  action.  On  Sunday  began  the  retreat  of  the 


846  CONVICT  B14 

French  towards  Sedan.  And  on  Monday,  24th  August,  the 
French  commander  warned  M.  Hunin,  burgomaster  and  pro- 
prietor of  the  Hotel  de  la  Poste,  that  it  would  be  prudent  to 
evacuate  the  town.  All  the  bells  in  Bouillon  rang  the  tocsin, 
and  many  people  fled,  abandoning  their  houses  as  they  stood. 
A  few  hours  later  the  Germans  entered  the  city. 

The  abandoned  houses  were  at  once  broken  open  and 
systematically  plundered.  Wine,  beer,  bedding  were  com- 
mandeered ;  pictures  and  valuables  of  all  sorts  were  packed 
up  and  sent  to  Germany.  More  careful  than  their  comrades 
at  Louvain,  the  victors  here  secured  and  stole  the  famous 
library  of  the  Trappist  monks  of  Cordemois.  Next  morn- 
ing a  notice  defining  the  duties  of  the  inhabitants  was  posted 
up  in  the  market-place,  on  the  walls  of  the  hotel  where  the 
last  French  Emperor  had  slept  on  the  night  before  Sedan. 

PROCLAMATION ! 

1.  The  town  of  Bouillon  will  pay  a  WAR  LEVY  of  500,000 
francs. 

2.  Belgian  or  French  soldiers  must  be  handed  over  as 
PRISONERS  OF  WAR  before  4  P.M.     Citizens  failing  to  obey 
this  order  will  be  sentenced  to  PENAL  SERVITUDE  FOR  LIFE 
in  Germany.     Every  soldier  found  after  that  hour  will  be 
SHOT. 

3.  Arms,  powder,  dynamite  must  be  handed  over  before 
4  P.M.     Penalty,  to  be  SHOT. 

4.  INTERDICTION  to  be  out  in  the  streets  DURING  THE 
HOURS  OF  DARKNESS.     All  houses  must  be  completely  OPEN 
and   LIGHTED.     Groups   of   more   than   FIVE   persons   are 
STRICTLY  FORBIDDEN. 

5.  Citizens  must  salute  every  German  officer  with  respect. 
Failing  this,  the  officer  is  entitled  to  extort  it  BY  ANY  MEANS 
IN  HIS  POWER. 

6.  If  any  HOSTILE  ACTION  is  attempted  the  town  will  be 
BURNT  DOWN  and  a  THIRD  OF  THE  MALE  POPULATION  WILL 
BE  SHOT;  without  distinction  of  persons,  the  innocent  will 
suffer  with  the  guilty.     The  people  of  Bouillon  must  under- 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES  <M7 

stand  that  there  is  no  crime  greater  or  more  terrible  than  to 
endanger  the  existence  of  the  town  and  its  inhabitants  by 
hostile  action  against  the  German  army. 

The  under-mentioned  have  been  taken  as  HOSTAGES  for 
the  good  behavior  of  the  town. 

THE  COMMANDER  OF  DIVISION. 

Followed  a  list  of  forty  names,  including  both  the  priests. 
Fined,  pillaged,  terrorized,  Bouillon  yet  thought  itself  lucky 
when  the  news  came  in  from  the  country. 

From  Rochehaut  no  one  had  escaped ;  the  warning  did  not 
come  in  time.  Uhlans  rode  into  the  village  on  Monday  aft- 
ernoon and  calmly  took  possession.  Rochehaut  was  cring- 
ingly  terrified,  slavishly  obedient.  Not  a  dog  could  lift  his 
tongue  against  the  invaders  without  being  zealously  throttled ; 
and  when  Madame  Mercier's  fat  sow  got  in  the  way  of  the 
colonel,  madame  bundled  out  after  her  right  under  the  horse's 
hoofs,  to  save,  not  her  pig,  but  the  dignity  of  a  German  offi- 
cer. Alas !  in  spite  of  all,  the  colonel  took  a  billet  de  parterre 
on  the  nearest  dung-hill.  He  got  up  swearing,  and  for  one 
awful  moment  Rochehaut  trembled ;  but  he  went  into  the 
Petit  Caporal  to  change,  and  Rochehaut  breathed  again,  and 
went  to  pick  up  madame.  That  peril  was  averted. 

For  two  days  nothing  happened,  and  the  villagers  crept 
out  of  their  shuttered  houses,  and  began  timidly  to  go  about 
their  work  of  getting  in  the  harvest.  On  the  third  morning, 
Thursday,  28th  August,  a  poacher  in  the  woods  near  the 
river  let  off  his  gun  at  a  rabbit.  He  did  not  hit,  and  he  was 
a  Botassart  man  ;  but  Rochehaut  was  the  nearest  village,  and 
Rochehaut  was  held  responsible.  Moreover,  that  morning  a 
patrol  of  Uhlans  had  gone  out,  to  come  back  with  ten  empty 
saddles.  French  cavalry  had  laid  an  ambush  for  them  in  the 
woods  near  Vresse.  Somebody  must  have  given  informa- 
tion to  those  French  cavalry.  It  was  necessary  to  make  an 
example. 

As  a  preliminary,  a  cordon  was  drawn  round  the  village, 
and  the  people  were  collected  in  the  square.  Of  the  men, 
some  thirty  of  the  youngest  were  marked  off  for  deportation 


248  CONVICT  B14 

to  Germany,  where  they  might  be  made  use  of  for  gathering 
in  the  harvest  of  the  Fatherland ;  the  remaining  twenty  found 
an  end  to  their  troubles  in  a  trench  under  the  churchyard 
wall.  The  women  and  children,  who  had  been  confined  in 
the  church  during  the  fusillade,  were  let  out  to  dig  the  gen- 
eral grave,  and  then  suffered  to  go  —  not  to  their  homes, 
however,  for  these  were  condemned.  "  They  wandered  in 
deserts  and  in  mountains,  and  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  rocks, 
being  destitute,  afflicted,  tormented."  Poor  old  Madame 
Mercier,  whose  leg  had  got  broken  in  her  struggles  with 
the  colonel's  horse,  had  been  overlooked  in  the  general  con- 
fusion and  left  behind  in  her  cottage.  She  could  not  get 
downstairs,  but  she  dragged  herself  to  the  window  and 
shrieked  for  help  to  the  soldiers  who  were  setting  fire  to 
her  kitchen.  The  colonel,  riding  down  the  street,  was  an- 
noyed by  her  cries ;  he  looked  up,  and  recognized  the  fright- 
ened old  face.  "  One  of  you  stop  that  old  woman's  noise !  " 
he  shouted.  After  all,  why  not?  It  was  her  own  fault; 
why  had  she  not  obeyed  orders,  and  gone  to  the  church  with 
the  rest  ?  "  Es  ist  unsere  Pflicht,"  said  the  Uhlans. 

It  was  Lettice's  turn  that  afternoon  to  fetch  the  daily  loaf 
from  the  Boulangerie  Lapouse,  opposite  the  church.  Her 
path  led  over  the  hill  past  the  crucifix,  across  the  fields  and 
through  a  corner  of  Gardiner's  enchanted  wood,  which  here 
ran  down  quite  close  to  the  village.  She  toiled  along,  as 
usual  with  her  head  in  the  clouds,  but  her  dreams  were 
broken  and  her  steps  stayed  by  a  sudden  burst  of  firing.  She 
paused  in  the  fringes  of  the  wood. 

All  down  the  street  men  in  gray  were  systematically  spray- 
ing the  houses  with  petrol ;  others  were  taking  their  choice 
of  the  furniture.  The  shops  and  cafes  of  the  square  were 
already  in  flames.  The  colonel  sat  his  horse  looking  on. 
Suddenly  a  boy  of  fifteen  bolted  like  a  rabbit  out  of  one  of 
the  blazing  doorways  and  down  the  blazing  street.  He  too 
had  disobeyed  orders.  A  laugh,  a  leveled  rifle,  and  the  poor 
little  rabbit  bounced  into  the  air  with  a  squeak  like  a  me- 
chanical doll,  legs  and  arms  jerking,  and  then  went  flat  on 
the  ground,  its  defeatured  face  in  the  midden.  The  flaxen 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES  249 

poll  became  a  crimson  blob.  Lettice  saw  that.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  rush  forward  and  attack  the  murderers  with 
her  bare  hands;  the  next  sent  her  running  blindly  back 
through  the  woods  by  the  way  she  had  come.  She  was  not 
frightened  —  it  was  far  too  vast  a  thing  for  personal  fear ; 
but  she  was  sick  with  loathing,  as  at  the  sight  of  some  mon- 
strosity which  ought  never  to  have  been  allowed  to  see  the 
sun. 

The  world  never  looked  quite  the  same  to  Lettice  after 
that  day.  Blind  and  deaf,  her  mind  blasted  bare  of  thought, 
she  crossed  the  fields  and  scrambled  down  the  orchard,  and 
came  round  the  corner  of  the  house  into  the  courtyard. 
There  she  was  brought  up  with  a  cold  hand  at  her  heart. 
Several  wagons  were  drawn  up  at  the  door;  men  in  gray, 
that  accursed  field-gray  which  has  been  hated  as  no  uniform 
before,  were  loading  them  under  the  direction  of  an  officer. 
And  Dorothea?  Faint  with  foreboding,  seeing  crimson 
blobs  in  patches  on  the  flags,  Lettice  groped  towards  the  side 
door  —  and  was  met  by  Dorothea  herself  coming  out,  her 
face  all  pink  and  white  with  tears. 

"  Oh,  Lettice,  Lettice ! "  she  said,  "  they're  going  to  burn 
the  house  —  they  give  us  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  turn 
out!" 

Lettice  put  a  hand  on  her  arm,  partly  for  support,  partly 
to  make  sure  of  her  reality ;  and  by  common  consent  they 
turned,  as  they  stood  in  the  doorway,  to  watch  the  lading  of 
the  carts.  All  went  by  clockwork.  To  one,  the  soldiers 
were  bringing  out  the  contents  of  Lettice's  linen  chest,  her 
blankets,  sheets,  etc.;  to  another  the  furniture  and  plate. 
They  packed  like  professional  movers.  There  were  tarpau- 
lins ready  to  cover  the  carts  when  full. 

"  There's  my  chest  of  drawers,"  said  Dorothea  under  her 
breath.  "  Oh,  Lettice,  oh,  Lettice !  what  is  that  man  doing 
with  my  best  crepe  de  Chine  nighties?  Oh,  look,  he's  pack- 
ing them  all  up  —  he  can't  be  going  to  wear  them  himself,  he 
must  be  taking  them  for  his  best  girl  in  Germany,  and 
they're  every  single  one  embroidered  with  my  name  in  full  — 
oh,  good  gracious,  how  can  he  ?  "  She  broke  into  a  hysterical 


250  CONVICT  B14 

giggle.  "  Oh,  really,  I  do  think  Germans  have  funny  sort 
of  minds!  Oh,  look,  look,  there's  your  bureau  out  of  the 
den  — " 

Lettice's  bureau  —  it  was  Gardiner's  bureau,  the  one  he 
always  used,  the  very  one  he  had  bought  from  Madame 
Hasquin  in  Lettice's  presence;  he  loved  it  too  much  to 
let  it  out  of  his  own  room.  The  officer,  staying  his  men  with 
a  word,  began  to  look  through  the  drawers,  presumably  for 
valuables.  The  file  of  Lettice's  household  bills  he  tossed 
aside;  letters  and  other  papers  he  skimmed,  before  rejecting 
them. 

Lettice's  hand  fell  from  Dorothea's  arm.  She  walked 
straight  across  the  courtyard  to  his  side.  "  What  are  you 
doing  with  that  bureau  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Requisitioned  for  the  army,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"  You  mean,  you  want  it  yourself,"  said  Lettice.  "  It's 
stealing;  and  you  and  your  men  are  just  thieves  and  mur- 
derers." 

He  turned,  then,  and  looked  at  her,  while  Dorothea  plucked 
at  her  sleeve,  whispering  frantic  entreaties.  But  only  a  firing 
party  could  have  silenced  Lettice  at  that  moment. 

"  No,  madam,  it  is  not  stealing,  it  is  war,"  said  the  German 
in  an  altered  voice.  "  You  are  conquered ;  you  have  no 
longer  any  property  or  any  rights  but  what  we  choose  to 
allow  you.  You  would  do  well  to  remember  that.  And  let 
me  advise  you  in  future  to  be  more  careful  of  what  you  say. 
Not  all  my  compatriots  have  an  English  education  to  look 
back  upon." 

Then  Dorothea  pulled  her  away,  still  reluctant ;  and  it 
was  Dorothea,  in  the  nightmare  minutes  that  followed,  who 
sorted  and  packed  in  wild  haste  all  she  thought  they  could 
carry.  There  was  not  much  left  to  take.  She  stuffed  some 
clothes  into  a  couple  of  pillow-cases,  and  dragged  the  silent 
Lettice  out  at  the  back,  past  some  soldiers  who  with  the  same 
deadly  method  were  smashing  the  windows  in  turn  and  spray- 
ing the  interior.  These  men  wore  broad  belts  to  which  were 
attached  a  hatchet,  a  syringe,  a  small  shovel,  and  a  revolver. 
On  the  belts  were  the  words,  "  Company  of  Incendiaries," 


DEUTSCHLAND  USER  ALLES  251 

also,  "  God  with  us."  As  Dorothea  had  said,  Germans  have 
funny  sort  of  minds. 

Crouching  at  the  top  of  the  orchard  behind  the  house, 
the  two  girls  watched  the  last  of  the  Bellevue.  First  the 
petrol  caught,  an  amethystine  aura  flickering  insubstantial. 
Then  the  woodwork  kindled,  and  yellow  flames  began  to 
twine  among  that  ghostly  harebell  blue.  Orange  pennons 
slid  softly  through  the  empty  window  frames ;  tiny  golden 
curls  started  out  along  the  eaves,  small  and  even  as  a  row 
of  gas  jets.  The  flames  lengthened,  they  united,  they  rippled 
and  flapped  up  the  sky  like  a  banner.  They  grew  many- 
tinted,  according  to  their  fuel  —  gold,  silver,  ruby,  emerald, 
amethyst,  topaz,  metallic  blue.  Lastly  the  roof  fell  in,  and 
a  great  foursquare  of  fire  puffed  up  to  heaven,  with  streams 
of  starry  sparks,  and  clouds  of  glare,  and  floating  flakes  of 
gold.  Dorothea  was  crying ;  but  Lettice,  her  lips  set  grimly, 
watched  to  the  end  the  destruction  of  Gardiner's  hotel,  the 
home  he  loved,  which  he  had  confided  to  her  care. 

Night  came,  but  not  darkness.  Rochehaut  was  burning, 
Poupehan  in  the  valley  flared  with  half-a-dozen  haystacks 
and  a  house  or  two,  Corbion  church  was  a  beacon  of  tall 
flames  on  the  hill,  Alle's  martyrdom  showed  as  a  pulsing  glow 
of  dusky  rose  in  the  overhanging  cloud.  On  the  far  side  of 
the  valley,  marching  home  with  their  booty  down  the  road 
from  Corbion  to  Bouillon,  the  soldiers  of  the  Fatherland 
were  singing,  Deutschland  iiber  Alles. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
THE  GOOD  HOURS 

".  .  .  All  villages,  chateaux,  and  houses  are  burnt  down  during 
this  night.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  the  fires  all  round  us  in 
the  distance.  In  every  village  one  finds  only  heaps  of  ruins  and 
many  dead.  Now  come  the  good  hours.  .  .  ." — Diary  of  German 
private,  4th  Comp.  Jager  Btln.,  No.  n.f  Aug.  23-27,  1914. 
What's  death  ?  —  You'll  love  me  yet ! 

Pippa  Passes. 

WHEN  the  dawn  came,  crystal-bright  and  pure,  the  two  girls 
left  the  ruins  of  the  Bellevue  and  wandered  off  among  the 
hills.  They  had  no  food.  They  did  not  know  where  they 
were  going.  They  did  not  know  where  they  wanted  to  go. 
Soon  rain  came  on,  and  fell  in  floods  all  day.  They  lost 
themselves  in  dim  green  valleys ;  they  pushed  through  drip- 
ping copses  of  hazel ;  they  sank  ankle-deep  in  spongy  mosses, 
and  waded  through  unnamed  torrents.  Once  they  crouched 
among  the  bracken  while  a  gray  patrol  rode  by,  shouting 
and  singing,  uproariously  drunk.  A  little  later  they  came 
on  a  lonely  cottage  with  a  dead  girl  lying  across  the  thresh- 
old. She  had  been  bayoneted,  and  worse.  A  baby  of  two 
years  was  strung  up  by  the  neck  to  the  door  handle ;  an- 
other, of  only  a  few  weeks,  wailed  feebly  in  a  pool  of  blood 
and  water  beside  the  mother.  Dorothea  darted  upon  it  with 
a  cry;  cradling  it  in  her  soft  arms,  against  her  breast,  she 
stepped  over  the  girl's  body  into  the  hut,  forgetful  of  the 
horror  of  death  in  the  claims  of  this  minute  piece  of  life. 
The  man  of  the  house  was  inside.  He  had  been  surprised 
at  his  dinner,  and  had  defended  himself  with  the  carving- 
knife.  He  had  taken  a  good  deal  of  killing,  as  the  floor 
and  walls  bore  witness ;  nevertheless,  the  murderers  had 
kicked  his  body  into  a  corner,  sat  down  at  his  table,  and 
finished  his  meal. 

Dorothea  was  searching  the  shelves  for  milk  or  any  other 

252 


THE  GOOD  HOURS  253 

food,  when  she  heard  a  shout  outside,  followed  by  a  cry  — 
the  oddest  little  cry  she  had  ever  heard.  She  caught  up  the 
knife  with  which  the  man  had  defended  himself,  and  ran 
out.  It  was  Lettice  who  had  made  that  odd  little  sound; 
she  was  struggling  with  an  Uhlan,  very  drunk  in  the  legs 
but  very  strong  in  the  arms,  who  was  trying  to  force  her 
down.  Dorothea  stuck  the  knife  into  his  neck  from  behind, 
dragged  it  out  and  stuck  it  in  again.  The  man  dropped 
Lettice  and  wheeled  round,  firing  his  revolver ;  but  his  hand 
wavered  away,  and  the  shot  went  into  the  ground.  He  sank 
down  with  a  grunt  and  lay  there  between  them,  the  bright 
blood  pumping  out  scarlet.  Dorothea  looked  at  Lettice ;  her 
eyes  flamed ;  she  held  the  baby  still  clasped  to  her  breast. 

"  I've  killed  him,"  she  said.     "  I'm  glad." 

Lettice  did  not  speak;  her  hands  were  at  her  throat,  me- 
chanically settling  her  tie;  she  turned  and  reentered  the 
forest  without  a  word.  "  Wait  half-a-minute ! "  Dorothea 
called  after  her ;  and  Lettice  waited,  in  the  brake,  back  turned 
to  the  house.  She  had  to  wait  a  good  many  minutes; 
whether  one  or  sixty,  it  was  all  the  same  to  her.  Then 
Dorothea  came  running  up,  breathless.  "  I've  found  just 
a  drop  of  milk,  and  this,  see,"  she  said,  displaying  one  of  the 
long  Belgian  loaves.  Lettice  was  to  suppose  she  had  spent 
her  time  in  ransacking  the  larder.  In  point  of  fact,  she  had 
been  rolling,  hauling,  pushing  the  dead  German  into  the  well ; 
she  did  not  wish  his  body  to  be  the  excuse  and  the  signal  for  a 
fresh  campaign  of  vengeance. 

They  spent  that  night  in  one  of  the  limestone  caves  of 
the  Semois.  In  spite  of  the  milk,  in  spite  of  Dorothea's 
sheltering  arms,  the  baby  died  of  exhaustion  in  the  cold  hour 
before  the  dawn.  Dorothea  wept  bitter  tears,  and  left  it 
lying  covered  with  ferns,  on  a  bed  of  moss ;  she  could  not 
bear  to  pile  stones  on  the  tender  little  limbs  and  ivory  face. 
A  turnip-field  gave  them  a  breakfast  more  sustaining  than 
hazel  nuts  and  blackberries,  but  for  the  most  part  they  kept 
to  the  woods;  they  were  afraid  of  the  open  country.  By 
this  time  they  had  lost  all  sense  of  direction.  The  rain  still 
fell  hopelessly.  There  was  no  sun  to  guide  them ;  the  hills 


254  CONVICT  BU 

were  all  hidden  in  mist ;  and  the  Semois,  when  they  came  on 
it  in  its  wild  and  twisting  valley,  seemed  never  to  flow  twice 
in  the  same  direction.  Yet  they  wandered  on,  because  they 
had  begun  wandering  and  had  not  spirit  to  stop. 

Towards  sunset  they  came  suddenly  to  the  edge  of  a  hill, 
and  saw  below  them,  deep  buried  in  a  cup-like  hollow,  a  farm. 
From  where  they  stood  an  orchard  sloped  steeply  to  the 
group  of  white  buildings,  beyond  them  the  green  meadow  fell 
away  to  a  brook;  the  opposite  slope  was  a  stubble  field, 
crowned  with  a  line  of  firs. 

"Why,"  said  Dorothea,  "why—" 

They  had  wandered  in  a  circle  and  come  back  to  their 
starting-point.  It  was  the  Ferme  de  la  Croix. 

Lettice,  who  had  not  spoken  for  hours,  found  her  tongue. 
"  Don't  go  down,"  she  said,  "  we  shall  only  find  somebody 
else  dead." 

"  We  might  find  something  to  eat,"  said  Dorothea,  more 
hopeful.  "  The  house  does  look  all  right,  and  I'm  sure 
Madame  Hasquin  would  give  us  the  supper  off  her  own  plate, 
if  she  hadn't  anything  else.  But  oh,  my  good  gracious! 
how  we  must  have  wandered !  I'd  hoped  we  were  half-way 
to  Mezieres  by  now.  And  yet,  you  know,  I  did  think  the 
country  seemed  to  be  looking  familiar  somehow  this  last  half- 
hour.  Don't  you  come  down,  Lettice;  you  stay  here  with 
the  things  while  I  go  and  explore." 

Lettice,  who  was  possessed  of  a  dumb  devil  that  day, 
shifted  her  bundle  from  her  left  hand  to  her  right  and  said 
nothing.  Slipping  from  tree  to  tree  down  the  orchard, 
Dorothea  peeped  at  the  house  from  under  cover.  All  was 
still,  except  the  joy-song  of  a  hen  which  had  just  laid  an  egg. 
Live  fowls  and  live  Germans  being  incompatible,  Dorothea 
came  out  of  hiding  and  walked  boldly  up  the  pebbled  path 
to  the  door.  On  either  side  bloomed  roses,  dahlias,  lavender 
where  the  bees  were  humming.  The  evening  sun  came  out, 
and  shone  peacefully  on  the  white  walls.  Dorothea  rapped. 
No  answer;  only  a  sandy  cat  ran  out  of  the  bushes  and 
twined  round  her  skirts.  She  knocked  again,  then  pushed 
open  the  door  and  entered. 


THE  GOOD  HOURS  255 

A  spotless  white  passage  with  a  dark,  uneven,  shiny  floor 
and  doors  on  either  side,  old  and  irregular.  Dorothea 
opened  the  first.  She  saw  a  pleasant  parlor,  low-pitched, 
with  lattices  facing  the  sunset ;  a  carved  oak  press ;  an  eight- 
day  clock,  still  ticking;  a  table  laid  for  dinner  with  beef- 
steak, gray  in  its  gray  greasy  gravy,  stewed  pears,  pommes 
sautees,  salad  in  a  china  bowl,  golden  country  beer  in  a  large 
decanter.  Glasses  stood  half  empty,  knives  and  forks  were 
crossed  on  half-eaten  plates  of  meat,  chairs  had  been  pushed 
back  anyhow.  There  was  no  living  creature  but  the  cat,  who 
sprang  up  on  the  window  ledge,  with  a  low  crooning  purr, 
among  the  red  geraniums  in  the  sun. 

A  hand  fell  softly  on  Dorothea's  shoulder,  and  she  turned 
with  a  great  start ;  but  it  was  only  Lettice,  who  had  toiled 
after  her  with  both  bundles,  and  had  come  up  noiseless  be- 
hind, as  her  custom  was. 

"That's  panic,"  she  said,  nodding  towards  the  deserted 
table. 

Room  by  room  they  explored  the  house ;  the  kitchen  with 
its  vast  open  fireplace,  the  queer  uneven  stairs,  the  tiny  bed- 
rooms, so  tempting  with  their  carved  bedsteads  and  spotless 
linen  and  scarlet  wadded  quilts  ("  je  tiens  a  mes  lits  "—  poor 
Madame!),  their  white-washed  walls  and  deep-set  lattices 
framed  in  jasmine;  the  round  tower,  dark  save  for  the 
swords  of  sunshine  that  pierced  its  western  loopholes,  and 
rustling  with  fowls ;  the  well-filled  storeroom.  Everything 
was  there  but  the  owners.  They  had  heard  a  bruit  and  a 
rumor,  and  they  had  fled ;  had  stampeded  in  abject  terror  be- 
fore the  advance  of  Germany.  And  so  lonely  was  the  farm, 
hidden  in  woods  and  served  only  by  a  cart  track,  that  neither 
ravager  nor  refugee  had  found  it.  The  wanderers  sank  into 
its  deep  peace  and  slept. 

It  could  not  hope  to  escape  permanently,  however,  foi 
Germans  work  by  the  map;  so  on  Dorothea's  advice  the  first 
thing  they  did  next  morning  was  to  make  a  cache  of  pro- 
visions in  the  orchard.  Well  for  them  they  thought  of  it,  for 
that  every  afternoon  they  were  visited  by  a  wandering  party 
of  Uhlans.  Dorothea,  washing  her  skirt  in  the  yard,  heard 


256  CONVICT  BU 

them  coming,  and  had  just  time  to  escape  with  Lettice  to  the 
woods.  There  being  nobody  to  kill,  the  visitors  had  to  con- 
tent themselves  with  sacking  the  house,  which  they  did  with 
zest.  It  was  odd  to  see  chairs  and  mirrors  come  hurtling  out 
of  the  bedroom  windows,  odder  still  to  see  a  drunken  Uhlan 
parading  about  in  Madame's  voluminous  best  chemise. 
They  wrung  the  necks  of  the  fowls ;  they  drove  off  the  two 
mild  cows ;  they  set  fire  to  the  ricks,  and  tried  to  burn  the 
house  as  well,  but  luckily  they  had  no  petrol,  this  being  a 
private  venture  not  a  military  operation,  and  its  massy  walls 
defied  them.  It  was  not  the  first  time  they  had  stood  fire. 
Finally,  they  killed  the  sandy  cat,  who  was  misguided  enough 
to  greet  them  as  she  greeted  Dorothea.  She  had  been  a  lean, 
hard-flanked,  and  indiscriminatingly  amiable  creature,  with 
a  vulgar  loud  purr ;  still,  it  was  distressing  to  see  her  tied  to 
a  tree  and  shot  to  death  with  table-knives. 

After  this  they  rode  off,  singing  the  inevitable  Deutschland 
uber  Alles  with  more  noise  than  melody,  and  the  girls  came 
out  of  hiding  to  take  stock  of  the  damage.  It  was  extensive. 
The  German  soldier  had  by  that  time  learned  to  loot  effectu- 
ally, and  what  they  had  not  stolen  they  had  smashed.  The 
poor  pretty  garden  was  trampled  into  mire.  The  kitchen  was 
ankle-deep  in  broken  crockery.  A  half -killed  pig  was  squeal- 
ing its  life  out  in  the  passage.  The  mattresses  had  been  slit 
open  and  spread  with  filth  from  the  stable.  They  had  wiped 
their  boots  on  the  tablecloth;  they  had  used  the  coffee-pot 
as  a  spittoon ;  they  had  covered  the  white-washed  walls  with 
what  the  expressive  French  idiom  calls  des  saletes;  they  had 
done  other  things  which  need  not  be  described.  In  fine,  they 
had  contrived,  within  the  space  of  a  summer  afternoon,  to  be 
so  ingeniously  filthy  and  destructive  that  not  a  corner  of 
the  house  was  habitable. 

Lettice  and  Dorothea  camped  that  night  in  the  barn. 
Next  day,  while  trying  to  cleanse  their  pigsty,  they  were 
surprised  by  a  fresh  party  of  visitors ;  but  these  were  sober, 
and  the  officer  in  command  was  the  same  comparatively 
humane  person  who  had  burned  the  Bellevue.  His  mission 
now  was  not  to  strike  terror,  but  to  make  an  inventory  of 


THE  GOOD  HOURS  257 

all  domestic  animals ;  and  he  did  not  look  pleased  when  he 
fell  over  the  dead  porker  in  the  passage.  Hastily  suppress- 
ing Lettice,  who  remained  impracticably  hostile,  Dorothea 
made  her  appeal  to  the  honor  of  the  German  army.  She  used 
her  tongue  and  her  beautiful  eyes  so  well  that,  after  listening 
to  her  tale,  the  officer  gave  her  what  she  wanted  —  a  sort  of 
permis  de  sejour,  exempting  the  farm  from  further  requi- 
sitions. Indeed  there  was  little  left  to  take. 

After  this  they  had  peace,  and  settled  down  to  a  strange, 
precarious,  isolated  life.  For  some  weeks  they  hardly  set 
foot  outside  the  farm.  This  extreme  seclusion  was  not  really 
necessary ;  for  times  had  changed  and  the  policy  of  the  con- 
querors now  was  not  to  scare  the  country  folk  away,  but  to 
coax  them  back  to  their  homes  and  their  ordinary  work. 
The  German  reign  of  terror  in  Belgium  seems  to  have  been 
based  on  the  theory  that  one  German  soldier  is  worth  x 
Belgian  civilians.  Therefore  when  sniping  took  place  (or 
when  they  fancied  it  had  taken  place,  or  feared  it  might  take 
place,  or  thought  a  locality  needed  a  lesson  to  teach  them 
what  to  expect  if  it  did  take  place)  the  order  went  out  to  kill. 
"  Without  distinction  of  persons,  the  innocent  will  suffer  with 
the  guilty."  Much  of  the  ravaging  was  done  deliberately, 
by  order:  as  at  the  sack  of  Rochehaut.  Much  was  done  by 
an  equally  deliberate  relaxation  of  orders :  as  at  the  cottage 
in  the  woods.  In  part  the  German  plan  succeeded,  for  it 
certainly  stamped  out  sniping.  In  part  it  recoiled  upon  itself. 
To  strike  terror  is  a  very  fine  thing,  but  the  results  may  be 
embarrassing  to  an  army  of  occupation.  Besides,  it  really 
looked  so  very  bad  to  neutrals! 

Lettice  and  Dorothea,  however,  did  not  concern  them- 
selves with  this  change  of  policy.  The  cottage  in  the  woods 
had  cured  them  of  any  wish  to  wander.  Even  Dorothea 
had  had  her  fill  of  adventures.  It  was  long  before  she  ven- 
tured as  far  as  Poupehan,  to  ask  for  news ;  and  when  she 
did,  she  wished  she  had  stayed  at  home.  The  fall  of  Namur, 
the  fall  of  Brussels,  the  coming  fall  of  Paris  — how  long 
before  they  heard  of  the  capitulation  of  London? 


CHAPTER  XXX 
CONFESSIO  AMANTIS 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow  .  .  . 
Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  the  perilous  stuff 
That  weighs  upon  the  heart. 

Macbeth. 

NOT  so  very  many  miles  from  Rochehaut,  in  an  empty  loft, 
Denis  was  studying  a  map  spread  out  on  a  packing-case. 
On  the  other  side  of  their  table  Wandesforde  sat  writing  a 
letter  on  his  knee.  Partly  by  good  luck,  and  partly  because 
Wandesforde  was  an  expert  in  the  art  later  known  as  wan- 
gling things,  they  had  contrived  to  keep  together  almost  from 
the  first;  at  present  they  were  in  the  same  squadron,  and 
sharing  the  same  billet,  much  to  Denis's  advantage.  For 
Wandesforde,  wherever  he  was,  on  the  principle  of  the  con- 
servation of  energy,  drove  at  making  himself  comfortable. 
He  used  to  say  that  Denis  would  have  put  up  in  a  pigsty  with- 
out troubling  to  turn  out  the  pig.  Two  months  of  war  had 
made  them  more  intimate  than  five  years  at  Bredon. 

"  And  that's  that,"  said  Wandesforde,  licking  the  flap  of 
his  envelope.  He  got  up  and  stretched  himself.  "  Ho ! 
I'm  tired.  I  think  I  shall  turn  in.  Four-thirty  to-morrow, 
isn't  it?  Ungodly  hour  to  rout  you  out  on  a  chilly  morn- 
ing!" 

"  Been  writin'  home  ?  "  asked  Denis  without  looking  up. 

"  Yes.     Haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Haven't  any  one  to  write  to." 

"  Well,  I  rather  wish  I  hadn't  either,"  said  Wandesforde. 
He  looked  over  Denis's  shoulder.  "  What  are  you  studying 
that  for?" 

"  Reasons." 

"  Want  to  make  sure  whereabouts  Aix  is  ?  " 
258 


CONFESSIO  AMANTIS  259 

"  No,"  said  Denis.  "  Ever  flown  over  this  bit  of  coun- 
try?" 

Wandesforde  bent  lower  to  follow  his  finger  on  the  map. 
"What's  the  name  of  this  bloomin'  corkscrew?  The 
Semois  ?  No,  I  can't  say  I  have.  Not  much  doing  that  way 
is  there?" 

"Not  as  a  rule.  But  we  shall  be  pretty  near  it  to- 
morrow." 

Wandesforde,  in  the  act  of  lighting  one  of  his  big  cigars, 
looked  inquiringly  at  his  partner.  He  knew  next  to  noth- 
ing of  Denis's  private  affairs,  and  on  principle  he  never  asked, 
but  he  was  always  open  to  hear.  Denis  lay  back  with  his 
long  legs  outstretched. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  he  said  with  deliberation,  "  if  my 
bus  comes  to  grief  to-morrow,  as  I  rather  expect  it  may, 
that's  the  place  I'm  goin'  to  make  for." 

"  You  expect  your  bus  to  come  to  grief  ?  Been  drilling 
holes  in  the  tank,  what?"  Denis  made  no  reply.  "Oh, 
Lord!  is  it  one  of  your  rotten  presentiments?  " 

"  I  was  dreamin'  of  muddy  water  last  night,"  said  Denis 
with  a  slightly  defiant  air. 

"  Well,  turn  that  stinking  lamp  down,  then.  Lord  only 
knows  when  I  shall  get  the  bath  fixed,  and  I've  worn  these 
pyjamas  a  fortnight  already,  I  can't  afford  to  get  'em  any 
blacker,"  said  Wandesforde  irrelevantly.  "  Have  some  cake. 
Home-made,  best  dripping  and  a  bit  sad  in  the  middle.  Spe- 
cially recommended  against  presentiments.  You  won't? 
You  don't  know  what's  good.  So  you  think  you're  going 
to  glory  to-morrow,  do  you  ?  Bet  you  a  fiver  you  don't." 

"  Done  with  that.  If  I  lose,  I'll  not  be  called  on  to  pay," 
said  Denis,  with  a  wintry  smile.  Wandesforde  lay  back  in 
his  comfortable  bunk  —  he  had  swung  himself  a  hammock 
made  of  curtains,  and  stuffed  it  with  straw  —  and  folded  his 
arms  under  his  head. 

"  Well,  all  I  can  suggest  is  you  dream  of  a  filter  and 
square  things  up  that  way.  I  wouldn't  like  to  go  out  yet.  I 
want  to  bring  down  a  Hun  or  two  first.  We  shall  be  doing 
them  in  by  dozens  before  we're  through.  Did  I  tell  you  I 


260  CONVICT  B14 

ran  into  Tommy  Wyatt  yesterday?  He  was  very  full  of  a 
new  French  dodge  for  firing  a  machine  gun  through  the 
propeller.  Silly  business  to  get  killed  when  there's  so  much 
fun  on  hand,  what?  Think  better  of  it,  old  thing." 

"  I  never  said  I  was  goin'  to  get  killed.  I  said  my  bus 
would  come  to  grief,  which  is  quite  a  different  thing.  It's 
not  likely  we  shall  both  of  us  get  back,  is  it?  Bombing 
Zeppelin  sheds  isn't  a  healthy  job.  We're  safe  to  get 
Archied ;  and  from  Aix  it's  an  uncommonly  long  run  home." 

"  You're  in  a  cheerful  mood  to-night." 

"  Sorry.  What  I'm  tryin'  to  drive  into  your  thick  head 
is  that  if  I  do  have  to  come  down,  I  shall  make  for  Roche- 
haut." 

"  Of  course  if  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  come 
down—" 

"I've  not  made  up  my  mind  to  come  down.  But  I  feel 
like  it,"  said  Denis  obstinately. 

"  All  right,  all  right.  But  I  can't  see  how  you  think  you'll 
ever  get  the  chance  of  making  for  Rochehaut  or  whatever 
you  call  the  place.  An  internment  camp  in  the  Fatherland 
is  the  common  fate."  Denis  again  preserved  silence.  "  Oh, 
you  and  the  bus  are  going  to  alight  in  some  conveniently  un- 
inhabited spot  ?  That  the  idea  ?  " 

"It's  possible,  isn't  it?" 

"  You  feel  like  it  ?  "  suggested  Wandesforde,  with  a  broad 
grin. 

"  Yes,  I  do  feel  like  it.  And  it'll  probably  happen.  I  may 
be  wrong  but  I  never  am,"  retorted  Denis. 

"  Oh,  quite.  Well,  I  shouldn't  dream  of  offering  advice, 
because  I  know  you  never  take  it,  but  I  wish  to  point  out 
that  in  the  hypothetical  circumstances  I  should  make  for 
the  Dutch  frontier  myself.  You'll  never  get  through  the 
lines." 

"  I  don't  propose  to  get  through  the  lines.  If  instead  of 
scintillatin'  with  wit  you'd  ever  by  any  chance  allow  me  to 
finish  what  I'm  saying,  I  should  have  told  you  before  that 
I  want  to  go  to  Rochehaut  because  I  know  the  place,  and 
because  my  cousin  Lettice  is  there  —  if  she's  still  alive." 


CONFESSIO  AMANTIS  261 

"  Oh  ah.     Yes.     I  remember." 

Wandesforde  had  heard  as  much  as  that.  He  did  not 
dare  offer  sympathy,  because  Denis's  glacial  eye  was  upon 
him,  forbidding  it.  Denis  went  on  with  his  most  intransi- 
gent air :  "  And  I  may  add  that  if  I  get  the  ghost  of  a 
chance  to  go  I'm  goin',  and  if  I  get  into  a  row  for  it  after- 
wards I  do  not  care.  I  want  you  to  know  this  now  because, 
if  things  fall  out  as  I  expect,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged 
if  you'll  see  my  pal  Gardiner  next  time  you're  home  on  leave, 
and  tell  him." 

"  The  chap  that's  in  prison  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Sorry  to  put  you  to  so  much  inconvenience,  but 
I  can't  write  it,  because  his  letters  are  read." 

"  Quite.     What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  I'm  goin'  to  Rochehaut  to  look  up  Lettice.  It's 
more  his  affair  than  mine."  Wandesforde  scribbled  down 
the  message  in  his  pocket-book.  "  And  tell  him  — "  Denis's 
voice  unexpectedly  failed. 

Wandesforde  held  his  pencil  ready. 

"  Say  I've  changed  my  mind,  and  I'm  goin'  to  settle  up 
my  own  affair  too,  if  I'm  let.  He'll  understand." 

Wandesforde  did  not,  never  having  heard  of  Dorothea 
in  this  connection.  He  had  never  known  Denis  make  a 
confidence  before.  There  was  a  pause ;  but  he  still  waited. 
If  he  knew  anything  of  the  signs  of  the  times,  more  was 
coming.  He  was  right.  The  never-ceasing  thunder  of  the 
guns  accompanied  and  illustrated  Denis's  next  speech. 

"  Wandesforde,  do  you  believe  in  a  future  life? " 

Three  months  earlier,  Wandesforde  would  have  answered 
with  a  shrug.  His  point  of  view  had  changed.  "  More  or 
less  got  to  out  here,  haven't  you  ?  "  he  said  soberly. 

"  I  didn't  —  for  the  best  part  of  this  year." 

"  What,  that  time  you  were  playing  about  with  the  fair 
Evey?" 

Denis  lifted  his  head.  "You  knew?  Well,  I  suppose 
you  would.  It  never  struck  me — " 

"  Everybody  knew,  old  thing,"  said  Wandesforde,  with  an 
irrepressible  grin.  He  was  more  touched  than  he  would  have 


262  CONVICT  B14. 

cared  to  admit  by  Denis's  rather  truculent  confidences,  but 
he  could  not  for  his  life  help  finding  him  deuced  funny! 
"And  nobody  could  think  what  on  earth  you  were  after! 
It  was  so  very  much  out  of  your  line,  and,  if  you'll  forgive 
my  saying  so,  you  made  such  a  shocking  poor  hand  at  it !  " 

"  I  don't  lay  claim  to  your  experience,"  said  Denis  forbid- 
dingly. He  attacked  his  confessions  once  more.  "  I  had 
rather  a  rough  time  of  it  last  autumn,  one  way  and  another. 
I_it_I_" 

"  You  lost  your  faith,"  suggested  Wandesforde,  still  grin- 
ning. "  Lord  bless  you,  my  dear  chap,  I  know !  You  left 
off  going  to  Bredon  and  listening  to  the  little  blighter  with 
the  mustachios.  He  came  to  me  about  it  —  funked  you,  I 
suppose  —  and  I  had  to  send  him  off  with  a  flea  in  his  ear. 
Oh,  Denis,  when  you  go  off  the  rails  all  the  world  stands  to 
admire.  Nobody  would  make  a  song  about  it  if  I  stopped 
going  to  church.  And  then  Evey  Byrne  appeared  on  the 
scenes,  and  there  was  a  hectic  interlude  which  ended  in  your 
both  vanishing.  You  went  back  to  Bredon,  I  know  that ; 
but  what  on  earth  did  you  do  with  her  ?  " 

"  She  went  into  a  convent." 

"No!  did  she  really?  Rum  ending  to  an  affair  of  that 
kind." 

"  It  was  not  an  affair  of  that  kind." 

What  an  expressive  face  his  was,  when  he  was  not  on 
guard !  and  how  it  changed  at  mention  of  Mrs.  Byrne ! 
Wandesforde  could  not  imagine  himself  taking  Evey  Byrne 
very  seriously,  but  he  felt  like  a  bull  in  a  china  shop  among 
the  reserves  and  scruples  and  delicacies  of  his  partner's 
mind.  He  was,  quite  simply,  very  fond  of  Denis.  He 
disliked  serious  scenes ;  in  candid  truth,  he  dreaded  them ; 
they  did  not  do,  when  to-morrow  you  were  flying  to  Aix 
and  to-night  you  had  been  writing  cheerful  non-committal 
letters  like  that  now  lying  on  the  table.  But  it  was  evident 
that  Denis  was  quite  beyond  ragging  and  being  ragged.  The 
moment  had  come,  his  tongue  was  loosed,  and  he  must  speak. 
Wandesforde  touched  him  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Go  ahead,  old  Denis.     I'm  off  rotting." 


CONFESSIO  AMANTIS  263 

Denis  looked  up,  and  Wandesforde  to  his  consternation 
saw  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Wandesforde,  did  you  ever  hurt  a  woman  —  badly  ?  " 
"  No,"  said  Wandesforde.     "  No,  thank  the  Lord !  that  I 
never  did." 

"  I  have.     Twice." 
"  You,  Denis  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  that  way.     Worse,  I  think.     I  did  the  beastliest 
thing  —  it  was  an  insult — " 

"  Evey  Byrne  you're  talking  of  ?  " 

"  Yes.     And  for  all  return  she  —  she  came  and  kissed  my 
hand.     She  said  I  was  too  good  for  her.     After  what  I'd 
done!     She  —  she    loved    me,    Wandesforde.     You    can't 
think  what  it  was  like.     It  made  me  feel  so  sick  — " 
He  made  a  long  break. 

"  I  saw  after  that  I'd  been  on  the  wrong  tack.     There  is 
a  God,  and  He  does  direct  things." 
"  Yes,"  assented  Wandesforde. 

"  And  of  course  that  set  me  thinkin'  of  the  other  again. 
Lettice  said  I'd  been  hard  on  her.  I  didn't  want  to  be  hard 
—  I'd  no  right  to  be  hard  on  anybiddy.  Especially  not  on 
another  woman.  But  I  didn't  see  how  things  could  ever 
be  as  they  were  before.  I  thought  about  it  a  lot,  but  I 
couldn't  get  it  straight.  I  am  a  duffer  when  it  comes  to 
people,  you  know.  All  that  time,  too,  I  was  feeling  pretty 
queer  —  a  bit  under  the  weather ;  I  dare  say  I'd  not  got 
over  the  shock.  It  wasn't  till  the  war  came,  till  I  realized 
she  was  out  here  in  all  this  awful  danger,  that  I  might 
never  see  her  again  — " 
Another  long  break. 

"  So  now  I'm  goin'  to  her,  if  I'm  let ;  and  I  think  I  shall 
be,"  Denis  wound  up  simply. 

Wandesforde  was  aware  that  he  had  been  no  more  than 
a  communicating  channel  between  Denis  and  his  friend 
in  prison.  He  did  riot  guess,  Denis  himself  did  not  guess, 
that  but  for  his  interposition  this  chronicle  of  the  heart, 
such  as  it  was,  would  never  have  been  told.  Denis  had  tried 
to  put  it  down  on  paper,  and  had  not  succeeded;  still  less 


S64  CONVICT  B14 

would  he  have  succeeded  by  word  of  mouth.  Gardiner  knew 
too  much,  saw  too  much.  Wandesforde  was  a  neutral 
medium.  It  is  often  easier  to  confess  to  a  stranger  than  to 
the  friend  of  your  bosom. 

So  Wandesforde,  feeling  shy,  and  a  good  deal  more  un- 
comfortable than  Denis  himself,  put  up  his  pencil  and  pre- 
pared to  take  counsel  with  his  pillow. 

"  You're  a  rum  chap,  Denis,"  was  his  conclusion. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
THE  LUCKIEST  GIRL  IN  THE  WORLD 

What's  death?  — You'll  love  me  yet! 

Pippa  Passes. 

"  LETTICE,  I've  been  down  to  Poupehan !  " 

Lettice  was  darning  her  stockings  in  the  shade  of  the 
tower.  Lettice  would  have  darned  her  stockings  on  the 
Judgment  Day.  She  suspended  her  work  to  look  up,  slowly, 
at  Dorothea.  Rose-brown,  panting  from  the  steep  hill,  lips 
laughing,  eyes  sparkling  with  excitement,  she  flung  herself 
down  among  the  stubble  and  the  pink  convolvuluses  and 
fanned  her  face  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  hot !  I  ran  nearly  the  whole  way.  I  went 
to  try  for  a  paper,  and  I  fell  over  M.  Lapouse,  and  oh,  Let- 
tice, what  do  you  think  he  told  me  ?  There's  been  a  French 
plane  brought  down  near  Florenville,  and  the  pilot's  es- 
caped, and  they're  hunting  him  all  over  the  place!  Oh! 
don't  you  hope  he'll  get  away?" 

Lettice  remained  looking  at  her  for  a  minute,  then  lowered 
her  eyes  and  slowly  resumed  her  work.  Dorothea  flounced 
away  with  an  energy  that  upset  Madame  Hasquin's  work- 
basket. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  fish !  I  did  think  you'd  be  interested  in 
this.  Don't  you  want  to  hear  about  it  ?  Don't  you  care ?" 

"  Was  —  was  the  man  hurt? "  asked  Lettice. 

"  No,  they  don't  think  so,  or  not  much  —  he  managed  to 
burn  his  machine,  anyway.  Ohl  don't  I  wish  I'd  been 
there!  We  might  have  patched  her  up  between  us,  and 
flown  her  to  the  French  lines.  Oh!  it  would  have  been 
sport !  " 

"It's,  it's  —  it's  twenty  miles  to  Florenville,  isn't  it?" 

265 


266  CONVICT  B14 

Lettice  pursued  her  train  of  thought  in  her  own  undeviat- 
ing  way. 

"Yes,  about.     Why?" 

"  And  when  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  When  did  she  come  down,  do  you  mean  ?  Yesterday 
morning.  Oh,  were  you  thinking  he  might  have  come  up 
here?  He  never  would,  Lettice.  No  such  luck !  He  would 
make  for  the  Dutch  frontier,  they  always  do,  M.  Lapouse 
was  saying  so.  They're  hardly  even  searching  west  of 
Bouillon." 

•'  O-oh." 

Lettice  went  on  darning.  Lettice  in  those  days  was  hardly 
a  personality.  Withdrawn  into  herself,  ensimismada,  as 
Gardiner  would  have  said,  for  hours  on  end  she  did  not 
speak,  she  scarcely  thought ;  she  brooded.  Her  mind  had 
been  bruised  and  it  was  numb.  She  was  like  an  automaton ; 
the  one  definite  feeling  that  emerged  was  an  unwavering 
hostility  to  the  destroyers  of  the  Bellevue.  Dorothea  was 
compassionate  to  a  fair  young  hussar  who  limped  to  the  door 
one  day  after  a  fall  from  his  horse;  she  gave  him  break- 
fast, put  his  sprained  arm  in  a  sling,  and  sent  him  on  his 
way  with  good  wishes  in  valiant  German.  Lettice  made 
his  coffee  and  broiled  his  ham  —  if  thine  enemy  hunger, 
feed  him ;  but  he  remained  her  enemy  still.  There  were  no 
good  wishes  from  her. 

Dorothea  with  an  enormous  sigh  pulled  over  a  bunch  of 
stockings  for  a  pillow,  and  lay  back,  still  panting,  hands 
clasped  behind  her  head.  She  did  not  find  Lettice  a  very 
satisfactory  companion  in  those  days.  She  was  not  an  auto- 
maton, far  from  it!  They  had  been  at  the  farm  for  several 
weeks  now,  and  she  was  wondering  how  much  longer  she 
could  stand  it.  The  same  view,  day  after  day  —  the  steep 
down-slope  of  the  meadow,  the  green  velvet  crease  where 
the  brook  ran,  the  steep  up-slope  of  the  harvest  field,  sil- 
very, with  its  slowly  discoloring  sheaves,  the  spires  of  the 
wood  against  the  uneventful  azure  of  the  sky  —  oh  dear! 
She  wanted  to  fight,  to  defend  her  country,  to  stick  bayonets 
into  Germans,  as  they  had  stuck  them  into  that  dead  girl 


THE  LUCKIEST  GIRL  IN  THE  WORLD     267 

in  the  woods  —  as  she  had  already  stuck  a  knife  into  the 
Uhlan.  She  held  up  her  little  brown  hand ;  it  didn't  seem 
possible,  yet  it  was  true,  that  that  hand  had  accounted  for 
one  of  the  enemy,  and  she  wasn't  sorry,  no,  she  couldn't  feel 
one  little  bit  ashamed,  though  she  knew  in  her  heart  that  at 
the  moment  when  she  pushed  the  body  over  the  lip  of  the 
well  she  hadn't  been  quite  sure  that  it  wasn't  still  breath- 
ing. .  .  . 

She  tucked  the  hand  back  with  a  little  shudder.  That 
didn't  bear  thinking  about.  "  Well,  why  didn't  I  stick  a 
knife  into  Lieutenant  Miiller,  then?"  she  reflected.  Miiller 
was  the  hussar.  "  There's  no  sense  in  me !  "  Hot  and  cold 
was  Dorothea,  Charlotte  Corday  one  hour,  Florence  Night- 
ingale the  next.  Inaction,  presumably  the  woman's  nat- 
ural lot,  was  not  natural  to  her.  But  for  Lettice  she  would 
long  ago  have  dressed  up  in  one  of  Achille's  suits  and  made 
a  dash  for  the  French  lines  — 

"  Tis  but  the  coat  of  a  page  to  borrow 
And  tie  my  hair  in  a  horse-boy's  trim — " 

She  didn't  love  skirts  at  the  best  of  times  — 

"And  I  sit  by  his  side,  and  laugh  at  sorrow—" 

Denis.     All  her  thoughts  always  came  back  to  him. 

Denis  was  fighting,  and  she  wanted  news;  oh!  she  did 
want  news  so  badly!  Tears  came  hot  in  her  eyes;  she 
turned  over  and  buried  her  face  in  the  grass,  struggling  with 
the  sudden  pain.  Denis  was  fighting ;  any  one  of  these  blue 
days  he  might  be  dying ;  he  might  be  already  dead.  And  he 
hadn't  forgiven  her.  Oh!  she,  with  this  vulture  at  her 
heart,  how  could  she  sit  quiet,  brood  on  still  anger,  like 
Lettice  ?  She  must  be  white-washing  the  kitchen,  or  helping 
wounded  Germans,  or  exciting  herself  over  stranded  French 
aeroplanes  twenty  miles  away  —  anything,  anything  to  get 
away  from  her  thoughts ! 

"  There's  a  man  in  the  wood,"  observed  Lettice. 

She  had  dropped  her  work  and  sat  immobile,  her  intent 


268  CONVICT  B14 

gaze  probing  the  shadows  of  the  distant  trees.  Dorothea 
with  an  impatient  sigh  rolled  over  and  sat  up  too. 

"Where?" 

"  There,  under  that  fir-tree  —  don't  you  see  him  ?  Now 
he,  he,  he's  stooping  down  behind  the  bush." 

"  What  eyes  you  have,  Lettice !  "  said  Dorothea,  screwing 
up  her  own.  "  I  can't  see  any  old  thing !  " 

"  I've  been  watching  him  for  some  time.  I  think  he's 
hiding." 

"Hiding?" 

"  He  was  there  before  you  came  back,  and  then  he  got 
down  out  of  sight.  I  don't  think  he  can  get  away.  I  think 
he's  hurt." 

"  Hurt  ?  "  Dorothea  repeated  wonderingly. 

"  There's  been  a  lot  of  firing  this  morning  down  by  the 
river." 

"  But,  Lettice,  you  don't  think  — " 

Lettice  did  not  say  she  thought  anything.  She  stuck 
her  needle  in  her  stocking  and  prepared  to  get  up.  She 
stood  a  moment  shading  her  eyes,  piercing  the  depths  of  the 
pine  wood  with  her  far-searching  look,  and  then  got  under 
way  to  descend  the  hill.  Dorothea  seized  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  don't,  Lettice  —  it's  sure  to  be  some  deserter,  you 
know  there  are  heaps,  and  you  haven't  even  got  your  big 
scissors !  " 

"  I  am  going  to  see  if  there  are  any  mushrooms  on  the 
hill  by  the  crucifix,"  said  Lettice  in  the  softly  distinct  tones 
which  admitted  no  discussion. 

"  Well,  wait  half-a-minute  for  me,  then !  " 

Lettice  did  not  wait ;  when  Dorothea  came  running  out 
of  the  house  with  the  carving-knife  tucked  inside  her  blouse, 
she  was  already  at  the  white  bridge  over  the  brook.  Dor- 
othea overtook  her  half-way  across  the  stubble  field.  She 
was  making  better  time  up  the  hill  than  ever  she  had  before. 

"  Oh,  darling  Lettice,  don't,  don't  go !  Let  me  —  it  doesn't 
matter  about  me,  I  can  take  care  of  myself,  and  I  don't  mind 
things,  but  you  know  what  it  was  to  you  last  time  1  Lettice 
darling  —  please!" 


THE  LUCKIEST  GIRL  IN  THE  WORLD     269 

Lettice  shook  off  her  hand.  "  I  saw  him  again  just  now," 
she  said.  "  He  was  wearing  those  leather  overall  things." 

"Lettice!" 

Next  moment  Dorothea  loosed  her  hold  on  Lettice  and  ran 
on  alone.  She  had  seen  him  too. 

He  came  out  of  the  woods  towards  them,  lurching  like 
a  drunkard.  And  Dorothea  knew  him,  spite  of  disfiguring 
dust  and  blood,  and  his  face  —  that  face!  His  cheek  had 
been  sliced  open ;  a  flap  of  raw  red  flesh  hung  down  over  his 
jaw ;  his  teeth  showed  white  in  the  gap,  like  a  skeleton's. 
He  tried  to  wave  back  the  girls,  he  tried  to  speak,  a  thick 
jumble  of  words;  his  feet  dragged  heavily  together,  and 
down  he  went,  full  length  in  the  grass. 

Dorothea  was  beside  him.  She  nursed  him  against  her 
breast,  mourning  over  him  with  dove-like  sounds,  kissing 
away  the  blood,  murmuring  exquisite  love,  warding  off 
friends  and  foes  alike  with  jealous  protecting  arms. 

Lettice  knelt  at  a  little  distance,  sobbing  helplessly. 

"  Lettice ! " 

What  radiant  eager  purpose!  Here  was  the  true  Dor- 
othea, come  to  her  own  at  last,  risen  to  her  full  stature. 

"  Help  me  to  lift.  They'll  be  up  here  directly,  sure  to, 
and  we  must  hide  him." 

"The  wood?" 

"  No,  they'll  search  that  first.  Into  the  house.  Take  his 
feet ;  I  can  manage  the  head." 

They  could  not  have  carried  Denis  —  a  six-foot  man,  in 
his  heavy  accouterments  —  they  could  not  have  raised  him 
from  the  ground,  in  ordinary  circumstances.  But  extraordi- 
nary need  calls  out  extraordinary  powers.  One-half  a  man's 
strength  is  his  conviction  of  strength.  Dorothea  lifted  the 
man  she  loved  with  her  love  in  addition  to  her  muscles,  and 
Lettice  had  the  strength  of  endurance,  if  not  that  of  pas- 
sion. So  they  carried  him  across  the  bridge  and  laid  him 
in  the  round  tower  among  the  hay.  Dorothea  spoke  again. 

"  Get  my  first-aid  things  out  of  the  dresser  drawer,  Let- 
tice, while  I  see  what's  wrong.  Quick  as  you  can;  we 
haven't  a  second  to  lose." 


270  CONVICT  B14 

Lettice  obeyed  orders.  When  she  came  back  Dorothea's 
uplifted  face  was  sunshine  unclouded. 

"  He's  not  going  to  die ! "  she  cried,  and  her  voice  sang. 
"  He  isn't  even  dangerously  hurt,  it's  only  pain  and  loss  of 
blood.  And,  Lettice,  he's  been  telling  me  —  darling,  no ; 
don't,  don't  try  to  talk,  it  does  hurt  you  so  —  he's  been  telling 
me  he's  been  bombing  the  Zeppelins  at  Aix !  They  got  them, 
too,  they  set  one  on  fire,  and  the  other  man  got  off  safe ; 
but  Denis  had  a  bullet  through  his  tank.  So  he  made  for 
Rochehaut,  but  he  couldn't  get  farther  than  Florenville,  so 
he  burnt  his  machine  and  came  on  on  foot.  And  this  morn- 
ing he  saw  the  Bellevue,  and  while  he  was  asking  about  it 
he  was  seen,  and  they  hunted  him,  all  among  the  woods  by 
the  river,  and  he  was  hit,  this  " —  she  touched  the  cheek  she 
was  bandaging  with  thistle-down  finger — "  I  wish  I  were  a 
doctor,  then  I'd  put  some  stitches  in ;  it'll  spoil  your  looks, 
my  darling.  Just  think,  Lettice,  he  was  hiding  in  the  wood, 
he  could  actually  see  us,  but  he  never  meant  to  come  out  for 
fear  of  getting  us  into  a  scrape.  He  meant  to  lie  there  till 
dusk  and  then  get  away  —  if  they  hadn't  caught  him  first, 
which  they  would  have.  Watch  how  this  bandage  goes, 
you'll  have  to  do  it  when  I'm  gone."  She  was  working  as 
she  talked,  with  perfect  swiftness  and  dexterity.  "  I  wish, 
oh !  I  wish  I  could  stay  and  see  to  you  myself.  Never  mind, 
it  can't  be  helped.  Cover  him  up  with  the  hay,  Lettice  — 
careful !  don't  crush  it,  or  it'll  give  the  show  away.  They 
may  possibly  look  in  here,  for  form's  sake." 

She  stood  up,  struggling  into  the  bloodstained  coat  she 
had  taken  from  Denis.  Lettice  stared,  bewildered. 

"  What  —  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Lead  them  off  on  a  false  scent,  of  course,"  said  Dor- 
othea — "  the  Huns,  I  mean.  Goodness,  I  shall  never  get 
my  hair  under  this  cap  —  where  are  your  scissors?  " 

"  But  — " 

Dorothea  stamped,  sawing  at  her  thick  plaits. 

"They'll  take  me  for  him,  don't  you  see?  I'll  lead  them 
a  lovely  goose  chase  —  I  bet  I  know  this  country  better 
than  they  do!  There's  the  Grotte  des  Fees,  if  the  worst 


THE  LUCKIEST  GIRL  IN  THE  WORLD     271 

comes  to  the  worst.  They'll  think  he's  gone  off  quite  in 
the  other  direction  —  else,  do  you  imagine  we'd  ever  possibly 
be  able  to  hide  him,  with  the  hue  and  cry  there'd  be? 
Good-by,  darling,  darling — "  She  flung  herself  down  be- 
side Denis,  lavishing  her  whole  heart  on  him,  baring  her 
soul,  unveiling  the  holy  of  holies,  the  white  fire  of  very  love. 
Then,  standing  up,  she  held  out  both  hands  to  Lettice ;  and 
in  her  face,  unearthly  bright  yet  grave,  Lettice  did  visibly  be- 
hold this  mortal  putting  on  immortality. 

"  It's  —  it's  a  frightful  risk,"  she  said. 

Dorothea's  gravity  broke  up  into  a  laugh  of  pure  glee. 

"Yes,  that's  the  very  cream  of  it!"  she  cried.  "Oh! 
I  have  wanted  to  do  something  like  a  soldier,  and  now  I've 
got  the  chance.  Oh !  and  Denis  has  forgiven  me,  he's  taken 
me  back  again  —  oh!  I  do  think  I'm  the  very  luckiest  girl 
in  all  the  world  !  " 

She  caught  Lettice  close  and  kissed  her  vehemently,  and 
then  fled  down  the  hill,  buckling  her  cap  as  she  ran. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
PER  ARDUA  AD  ASTRA 

Then  shall  they  begin  to  say  to  the  mountains,  Fall  on  us ;  and  to 
the  hills,  Cover  us. —  ST.  LUKE. 

IN  the  days  of  her  not  far  distant  childhood  Dorothea  had 
never  loved  any  game  like  hide-and-seek ;  she  flung  herself 
into  her  present  escapade  with  much  the  same  zest  and  little 
more  discretion.  Her  plan,  so  far  as  she  had  one,  was  to 
lie  up  in  the  fir  wood  till  a  search-party  appeared,  then  show 
herself  and  give  them  a  lead  away  from  the  farm.  The  rest 
she  left  to  chance,  naively  confident  that  the  luck  which  had 
sent  Denis  to  her  would  let  her  save  him.  She  had  had 
enough  hard  knocks,  one  might  have  thought,  to  convince  her 
that  Fate  does  not  necessarily  favor  the  young  and  hopeful ; 
but  that  was  a  lesson  Dorothea  never  had  learned,  and  never 
would. 

Ten  minutes  after  she  had  settled  herself  among  the 
bracken  a  mounted  patrol  rode  over  the  brow  of  the  opposite 
hill  and  began  slowly  to  descend  towards  the  farm.  Dor- 
othea scrambled  to  her  feet  and  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood ;  she  began  to  crawl  along  under  the  hedge,  stooping, 
furtive,  a  fugitive  in  every  line.  She  expected  every  min- 
ute to  hear  the  shout  of  discovery.  None  came,  and  pres- 
ently she  erected  herself  and  peeped  over  the  bracken  to  see 
if  they  were  stealing  upon  her  unawares.  The  officer  in  com- 
mand was  just  riding  through  the  orchard  gate,  on  his  way  to 
the  farm. 

This  was  a  contingency  she  had  not  foreseen  —  that  they 

wouldn't     notice     her.     Dorothea     stamped.     "  Oh,     you 

idiots ! "  she  apostrophized  the  soldiers  of  the  Fatherland. 

She  ventured  herself  clear  of  the  wood.     Still  her  pursuers 

272 


PER  ARDUA  AD  ASTRA  273 

went  tranquilly  the  wrong  way;  they  were  half  down  the 
orchard  —  in  another  minute  they  would  be  knocking  at  the 
back  door  of  the  farm.  Dorothea,  in  a  fright  now,  ran 
right  out  into  the  middle  of  the  field.  Ah,  at  last!  Some 
one  shouted ;  the  troop  gathered  itself  together,  swept  past 
the  farm,  galloped  down  the  hill. 

Dorothea  turned  and  ran  like  a  hare.  She  felt  like  one, 
too.  They  were  firing  at  her.  They  wanted  to  bring  her 
down  before  she  could  take  cover.  It  wasn't  believable. 
She  couldn't  be  hit !  But  she  was ;  it  fell  like  a  lash  on  her 
shoulder,  rolling  her  over  with  the  sudden  shock.  She  was 
up  in  a  minute  and  ran  on  again,  crying  as  she  went,  poor 
little  Dorothea,  with  the  unexpected  sharp  pain,  mortally 
terrified  of  the  bullets  flying  past  her  and  of  the  thundering 
hoofs  behind,  beginning  to  feel  she  had  undertaken  more 
than  she  could  carry  through.  This  wasn't  a  bit  what  she 
had  expected  —  it  wasn't  any  fun  at  all ! 

But  the  wood  received  her,  and  she  knew  its  alleys  bet- 
ter than  they  did ;  and  presently  she  was  tumbling  head  first 
into  a  tiny  dell,  under  a  low  cliff  veiled  in  ivy  and  drooping 
ferns.  You  might  search  the  wood  from  end  to  end  with- 
out finding  the  way  into  the  dell ;  and  if  you  found  the  dell, 
you  would  never  guess  that  under  the  creepers  there  was  a 
hole,  the  entrance  of  the  Grotte  des  Fees.  Dorothea  had 
once  tried  to  explore  it ;  she  got  as  far  as  a  first  chamber  of 
exquisite  white  veils  and  icicles  of  stalactite,  and  then 
dropped  her  candle.  She  never  tried  again,  because  Madame 
Hasquin  assured  her  the  roof  was  unsafe.  She  was  rather 
glad  of  the  excuse ;  underground  adventures  were  not  to  her 
taste.  She  crept  inside  now,  but  not  far,  not  beyond  the 
green  light  of  the  entrance. 

For  some  time  she  lay  panting  like  a  dog,  thought  foun- 
dered in  panic ;  but  she  gradually  calmed  down.  She  had  a 
drink  from  the  stream  trickling  down  the  cave,  and  by  and 
by,  feeling  a  good  deal  ashamed  of  herself,  she  made  an 
effort,  opened  her  coat  and  examined  her  wound.  It  was 
neither  wide  nor  deep ;  the  bullet  had  gone  clean  through  her 
arm  without  touching  the  bone.  But  it  had  bled  a  good  deal, 


374  CONVICT  B14 

and  it  hurt,  it  hurt  dreadfully.  She  made  shift  to  tie  it  up, 
feeling  more  ashamed  than  ever  because  she  couldn't  help 
whimpering  with  the  pain.  Oh,  she  was  a  horrid  little 
coward !  She  had  come  down  with  a  bump  from  her  vain- 
glory. But  when  it  was  done  she  took  heart.  She  looked 
down  on  her  stained  sleeve ;  how  splendid  to  see  her  blood 
mingling  with  Denis's !  After  all,  she  was  a  real  casualty 
now;  she  had  been  really  properly  wounded,  like  a  real 
proper  soldier.  That  was  a  sustaining  thought. 

It  was  while  she  lay  there,  listening  to  the  cool  drip  of 
the  water,  breathing  in  the  cool  mossy  scent,  that  her  active 
little  brain  got  to  work  on  the  position.  She  had  gone 
into  it  headlong,  without  thinking ;  she  now  saw  many  things 
she  had  ignored.  First  and  foremost  and  at  any  cost,  she 
must  not  allow  herself  to  be  caught.  She  was  tall  for  a 
woman,  and  Denis  slight  for  a  man,  and  she  had  put  on  his 
leather  coat  and  leggings  over  all  her  own  things,  but  even 
so  there  was  a  good  deal  more  of  them,  both  lengthways  and 
breadthways,  than  she  could  fill  out.  "  Gracious !  why,  my 
wig  alone  would  give  the  show  away !  "  reflected  Dorothea, 
with  a  dismaying  vision  of  hidden  dangers  passed.  "  Be- 
sides, they  would  recognize  me  —  Major  von  Marwitz  would, 
I  think,  and  Lieutenant  Miiller  would,  I  know.  And  then, 
of  course,  they'd  go  straight  and  search  the  farm,  and  Denis 
without  his  kit,  they'd  shoot  him  as  a  spy,  and  Lettice  too 
for  hiding  him  —  oh !  "  She  had  a  moment  of  panic.  "  But 
I'm  not  going  to  be  caught,"  she  wound  up  firmly. 

A  plan  suggested  itself.  She  would  stay  here  till  dusk, 
then  get  away  through  the  woods  towards  Vresse,  say,  show 
herself  there,  double  back  to  the  cave,  leave  Denis's  things 
under  the  rocks,  and  emerge  as  her  proper  self  once  more. 
She  had  everything  but  her  skirt,  and  it  wouldn't  be  the  first 
time  Dot  O'Connor  had  run  about  in  knickerbockers.  This 
was  a  beautiful  scheme,  and  it  would  let  her  go  back  to  the 
farm  —  she  did  want  to  go  back  to  the  farm.  A  dimple  came 
in  her  brown  cheek ;  her  color  rose ;  at  that  moment  Dor- 
othea did  not  look  much  like  an  escaped  airman.  .  .  . 
Dreaming  such  nonsense!  She  lifted  the  creepers  reso- 


PER  ARDUA  AD  ASTRA  275 

lutely  and  peeped  out.  Yes,  it  was  already  pretty  dark  she 
might  start  now  -  and  suddenly  she  discovered  that' she 
didn  t,  no,  she  didn't  want  to  leave  the  safe  shelter  of  the 
cave  and  adventure  herself  in  a  world  where  bullets  were 
flying  and  men  hunting  for  her  life— "Oh,  Dot  O'Connor 
you  miserable  little  worm! "  said  Dorothea.  "  It's  just  what 
people  always  say  —  women  are  no  good  when  it  comes  to 
the  point.  But  I  will  be  some  good!"  She  marched  out 
of  the  cave. 

They  were  still  beating  the  wood;  there  were  soldiers 
everywhere.  But  Dorothea  had  been  a  Red  Indian  many 
times  in  the  shrubbery  at  home.  She  lay  in  the  brake  not 
ten  yards  from  Lieutenant  Miiller  (yes,  it  was  he  in  per- 
son), and  laughed  to  hear  him  issuing  his  curt,  disappointed 
orders.  It  was  dark,  and  the  men  were  bored,  and  not  very 
numerous;  she  slipped  between  the  cordon  like  a  weasel, 
and  had  reached  the  next  hill  when  by  accidental  good  luck 
she  showed  herself  against  the  sky-line.  A  sentry  gave  the 
alarm,  and  again  she  had  the  whole  patrol  streaming  in  pur- 
suit. This  suited  her  to  a  T,  for  she  was  drawing  them 
away  from  the  farm,  and  she  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  oi 
being  caught.  It  was  black  as  a  wolf's  mouth,  and  she  knew 
the  woods  between  here  and  Vresse  like  the  palm  of  her  hand. 
She  had  her  second  wind  of  courage  now. 

Somewhere  about  two  in  the  morning  she  found  herself 
—  not  at  Vresse,  but  at  Mogimont,  in  a  totally  different  di- 
rection. It  didn't  matter,  for  it  was  miles  away  from  Roche- 
haut,  which  was  all  she  cared  about;  but  in  her  ignorance 
of  her  whereabouts  she  nearly  blundered  into  the  tiny  sta- 
tion, where  a  melancholy  middle-aged  German  was  brewing 
himself  coffee.  Beating  a  hasty  retreat,  she  found  a  hay- 
stack in  a  corner  of  a  meadow,  and  climbed  into  its  warm 
depths  to  wait  for  the  dawn.  Imprimis,  she  had  not  yet 
showed  herself  at  Mogimont,  and  she  must ;  secundis,  after 
her  recent  performance  she  wouldn't  trust  herself  in  the 
dark  to  find  the  way  back  to  the  farm.  She  was  extremely 
tired  (Dorothea  liked  a  good  eleven  hours  in  her  bed),  and 
she  fell  fast  asleep.  The  sun  was  high  when  she  was  aroused 


276  CONVICT  B14 

by  the  shaking  of  her  couch.  She  opened  drowsy  eyes,  to 
see  the  top  of  a  ladder  pushing  itself  up  against  the  sky ;  a 
moment  later  she  was  gazing  into  the  round  astonished  eyes 
and  open  mouth  of  the  Landsturm  sentry,  who  had  come  to 
fetch  a  truss  of  hay. 

Dorothea  had  meant  to  show  herself,  but  not  at  such  close 
quarters.  She  hurled  herself  upon  him  and  tipped  his  lad- 
der over.  He  fell  off,  she  slipped  down  the  other  side  of 
the  stack  and  made  for  the  woods.  Luckily  she  had  only  a 
few  yards  to  cover.  She  was  plunging  through  the  hedge 
as  her  adversary  turned  the  corner  of  the  stack.  He  fired, 
and  missed ;  out  of  the  station  rushed  his  comrades  at  the 
shot;  down  the  hill  through  the  woods  fled  Dorothea, 
laughing  —  yes  —  laughing ;  his  expression  had  been  so 
funny ! 

It  was  a  close  shave,  nevertheless.  She  was  up  an  oak- 
tree,  flattened  against  the  trunk,  when  the  pursuit  went  past, 
and  there  she  stayed  until  the  alarm  died  away  in  another 
direction.  She  would  have  stayed  longer;  but  when  the 
world  turned  to  black  mist  and  began  to  spin  round  her  she 
slid  down  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  ended  by  rolling  out  of 
the  lower  branches.  When  she  came  to  herself  she  was  lying 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree  in  a  pool  of  blood,  ten  feet  from  a 
path,  at  the  mercy  of  any  chance  wayfarer.  Her  arm  had 
broken  out  bleeding  again ;  she  was  parched  with  thirst  and 
felt  like  death.  It  was  thirst  which  at  last  spurred  her  to 
her  feet,  in  the  hope  of  finding  water.  And  in  that  land  of 
brooks  and  springs  she  did  find  it  —  a  tiny  runnel,  tasting 
of  the  brown  leaves  through  which  it  oozed,  but  water  of  life 
to  Dorothea  with  the  wound-thirst  on  her.  She  drank  and 
drank,  and  laved  her  head  and  face  and  arms,  and  drank 
again,  till  the  sky  stood  still,  and  the  trees  left  off  dancing 
jigs  before  her  eyes. 

But  she  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  blood ;  she  was  weak,  and 
feverish,  and  muddle-headed ;  and  in  consequence  she  made 
a  blunder.  She  ought  now  to  have  stripped  off  Denis's 
things,  which  had  served  their  turn,  and  left  them  hidden. 
But  she  had  got  into  her  head  that  she  was  to  take  them 


PER  ARDUA  AD  ASTRA  277 

back  to  the  cave,  and  she  had  not  wits  enough  to  mend  her 
plan ;  she  could  only  carry  out  what  was  fixed  before. 

All  that  day,  then,  she  toiled  along,  still  in  the  character 
of  the  escaped  avion.  But  the  forests  of  the  Semois  are 
lonely ;  she  met  no  one  but  a  couple  of  children  picking 
whortleberries,  who  dropped  their  cans  and  their  dinner  and 
fled,  taking  her  for  a  German.  Dorothea  shuddered  at  the 
bread ;  she  tried  a  few  berries,  but  they  made  her  sick.  She 
could  not  eat  that  day,  but  she  drank  of  every  brook  she  came 
across.  It  was  very  hot,  and  Denis's  coat  and  cap  and  leg- 
gings were  made  of  leather  and  lined  with  fleece,  and  their 
dark  color  attracted  an  Egyptian  plague  of  flies.  Dorothea 
was  far  spent  by  the  time  she  struck  the  familiar  track 
through  the  pine  wood. 

She  was  so  far  spent  that  for  some  time  she  walked  along 
the  track  itself,  forgetting  it  was  no  place  for  her.  It 
seemed  too  much  trouble,  too  much,  to  stoop  and  crawl  and 
hide  among  the  bracken.  When  a  bramble  caught  her 
sleeve  she  burst  out  crying.  She  missed  her  way  and  stum- 
bled into  the  hidden  dell  from  the  wrong  side,  brushing  waist- 
high  through  flowering  willow-herb  which  streamed  down  the 
hill-side,  rose-pink,  almost  lilac  in  intensity  of  color. 

Oh !  the  coolness,  the  green  twilight  of  the  cave !  Dor- 
othea with  a  great  sigh  buried  her  face  in  icy  crystal  water. 
Oh!  it  was  good!  She  lay  for  some  time  before  she  dis- 
covered that  one  reason  why  she  had  been  feeling  so  queer 
was  that  her  arm  was  bleeding  again.  She  gave  a  twist  to 
her  bandage,  but  she  was  too  tired  to  see  to  it  properly  — 
too  tired  even  to  get  rid  of  her  flying  kit ;  a  deadly  lassitude 
weighed  on  every  limb.  By  and  by,  when  it  was  cooler, 
and  darker,  and  the  flies  were  less  troublesome,  she  would 
slip  off  down  to  the  farm. 

"  This  is  where  he  went,"  said  an  eager  voice.  "  See  how 
he  has  broken  these  pink  weeds!  And  here  is  the  blood 
again." 

"  Himmel !     I  have  passed  this  tree  ten  times,  and  never 
have  I  seen  this  path!     But  what  is^ become  of  him? 
cannot  have  flown  out  of  the  place ! " 


278  CONVICT  B14 

Dorothea  sat  up ;  she  was  cold  enough  now.  Oh !  why 
had  she  not  thought  of  the  wood  being  still  patrolled  ? 

Steps  came  swishing  through  the  long  grass.  Suddenly 
the  cave  grew  lighter,  and  there  was  a  startled  exclama- 
tion. They  had  lifted  the  curtain  of  ivy.  Both  began  to 
chatter  at  once,  rapidly,  excitedly.  "  I  tell  you,  it  is  not 
safe,  these  caves  are  dangerous!"  "  Aber,  if  we  fetch  the 
Herr  Lieutenant  he  will  not  give  us  the  reward,  we  shall  have 
to  share  with  the  rest !  "  Private  Blum  had  a  young  lady  in 
Germany,  and  he  wanted  all  he  could  get.  Dorothea  could 
not  follow  all  their  talk,  but  she  gathered  to  her  joy  that  one 
was  going  off  to  fetch  help  while  the  other  stayed  on  guard. 
Yes,  he  was  certainly  alone ;  she  could  hear  him  walking  up 
and  down  and  singing  to  himself  — "  Ich  weiss  nicht  was  soil 
es  bedeuten  — "  Now,  with  any  luck  — 

The  song  ceased.     The  ivy  was  lifted  again. 

"Englishman!"  Pause.  "Englishman,  are  you  there? 
Do  you  hear  me?  If  you  will  come  out  you  shall  have  your 
life  —  I  will  not  harm  you  !  " 

Private  Blum  had  a  mind  to  steal  a  march  on  his  comrade. 
Getting  no  reply,  he  went  head  first  into  the  hole  on  hands 
and  knees,  his  rifle  tucked  under  his  arm.  It  was  very  dark 
and  very  wet,  and  disagreeable  stories  about  underground 
rivers  and  bottomless  abysses  were  running  in  his  head.  He 
paused.  "  Englishman !  "  he  called  again  less  confidently. 

This  time  there  was  a  reply ;  a  shot  came  out  of  the  dark. 
He  seized  his  rifle  and  returned  the  compliment ;  then, 
feeling  what  seemed  like  the  entire  grotto  tumbling  about 
his  ears,  he  backed  out  hurriedly.  "  Du  lieber  Gott ! "  he 
muttered,  standing  up  in  the  sunshine  and  feeling  himself 
all  over  to  make  sure  he  was  not  hurt,  "  but  that  is  a  dan- 
gerous one!  I  will  leave  him  to  the  Herr  Lieutenant  —  he 
will  know  how  to  settle  him ! " 

The  luck  was  all  with  the  enemy.  Dorothea  lay  weeping 
tears  of  rage  over  Denis's  useless  revolver.  She  had  dropped 
it  into  the  stream ;  she  had  never  let  one  off  before,  she  had 
no  idea  they  kicked  like  that!  And  now  what  was  she  to 
do?  If  she  could  have  disposed  of  Private  Blum,  as  she  had 


PER  ARDUA  AD  ASTRA  <*79 

hoped,  she  might  have  got  away;  but  she  had  not  disposed 
of  Private  Blum.  He  was  out  there,  very  much  alive,  and 
in  another  minute  Lieutenant  Miiller  would  join  him;  and 
if  Lieutenant  Miiller  saw  her  — 

Till  this  minute  Dorothea  had  never  doubted  of  success. 
But  now  ?  Dead  or  alive,  if  she  fell  into  German  hands,  it 
would  be  equally  fatal ;  Denis  would  be  worse  off  than  if 
she  had  never  interfered.  He  might  even  owe  his  death  to 
her.  "Oh,  darling,  darling!"  Dorothea  murmured,  crush- 
ing her  hands  together,  an  agonizing  stricture  at  her  heart. 
"  Oh,  it  isn't  fair.  Oh,  God,  let  me  save  him !  Oh,  I  must 
save  him,  I  can't  bear  it  if  he  dies  through  me,  I  can't,  I 
can't,  I  can't.  Oh,  isn't  there  any,  any  way  ?  " 

Pieces  of  rock,  loosened  by  the  explosion,  were  still  pat- 
tering down ;  one  fell  on  her  hand.  She  glanced  round  im- 
patiently, and  saw  to  her  dismay  that  half  the  cave  seemed 
ready  to  fall  in;  very  little  more  would  bring  down  an 
avalanche.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  —  and  stood  still.  She 
had  seen  how  to  save  Denis. 

So  simple,  after  all !  Why,  of  course  it  was  what  always 
happened,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  operations.  So  much 
neater,  too,  than  if  she  had  escaped.  The  search  would  come 
to  an  end,  the  roads  would  no  longer  be  guarded,  Denis 
would  have  a  far  better  chance  of  getting  off.  And  there 
would  certainly  be  nothing  left  to  identify.  Oh,  it  was  a  top- 
ping idea!  Perhaps  if  Denis  crossed  the  frontier  into  Hol- 
land she  might  follow  —  no,  she  couldn't,  though,  she  was 
forgetting ;  how  queer !  She  would  be  dead. 

Death.  She  was  going  to  die,  all  alone  here  in  the  dark. 
She  would  never  see  the  sunshine  any  more.  She  would 
never  see  Denis  any  more,  never  be  his  wife,  never  taste 
the  happiness  which  niggard  Fate,  at  long  last,  was  offering 
her.  It  was  the  end.  And  while  she  was  trying  to  subdue 
her  aching,  unsatisfied  rebellion,  to  remind  herself  that  she 
had  only  petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  save  him  and  should  be 
thankful,  in  a  flash  of  sunset  light  which  illumined  and  in- 
terpreted the  past,  Dorothea  saw  that  it  was  the  only  perfect 
end.  She  would  have  been  his  wife?  Ah,  but  it  would 


280  CONVICT  B14 

never  have  been  the  same,  he  would  never  have  given  her 
what  he  once  gave ;  she  had  spoiled  that.  It  would  have 
been  pity,  amends,  the  second  best.  He  would  never,  never 
love  her  living ;  no,  but  he  would  love  her  dead.  For  her 
sake  he  would  go  softly  all  his  days;  she  was  sure,  now,  of 
an  unfading  shrine  in  his  memory.  Yes,  and  even  apart 
from  Denis,  little  Dorothea  was  shyly  proud.  She  was  not 
giving  her  life  for  him  alone ;  she  was  dying  as  a  soldier  for 
her  country,  and  could  claim  the  soldier's  due  of  amnesty 
and  an  honored  grave. 

How  far  away  the  world  had  gone!  and  how  dim  and 
queer  she  felt !  Was  it  her  arm  again  ?  Those  moments  of 
waiting  might  have  been  very  cruel,  but,  more  lucky  in  her 
death  than  in  her  life,  Dorothea  was  spared  them.  She  did 
not  hear  Lieutenant  Miiller  outside,  nor  his  orders  to  the 
men.  She  had  drifted  far  away,  to  happy  hours  at  Bredon 
and  her  beloved  aeroplane.  It  was  evening;  the  solemn 
splendors  of  the  sunset  were  all  about  her  in  the  sky.  She 
was  flying  through  a  sea  of  gold  —  of  pure  gold,  like  unto 
clear  glass  —  or  was  it  the  glory  of  God? 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN 

If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 
To  come  back  and  be  forgiven ! 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 

"  ARE  your  minds  set  upon  righteousness,  O  ye  congrega- 
tion?" inquired  Mr.  Roche  in  skeptical  tones. 

It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  all  prisoners  having  the  white 
Church  of  England  ticket  on  their  doors  had  been  rounded 
up  for  the  chapel.  Not  that  that  was  any  hardship,  for  they 
liked  the  service ;  it  was  commendably  short,  there  were 
plenty  of  hymns,  and  even  the  lessons,  as  read  by  Dr.  Scott 
in  his  voice  of  gold,  were  really  quite  amusing,  especially  the 
chroniques  scandaleuses  of  the  Old  Testament.  By  con- 
trast with  the  bareness  of  their  cells  they  liked,  too,  the 
satins  and  the  embroideries,  the  lights  and  the  flowers  and 
the  incense  on  which  the  little  doctor  squandered  most  of  his 
pocket-money.  He  was  a  believer  in  the  beauty  of  holiness ; 
he  had  transformed  the  bare  little  barn  of  a  place  into  a 
gem.  Only  the  jeweled  cross  and  candlesticks,  source  of 
covetous  desires  in  such  members  of  the  congregation  as 
did  not  happen  to  be  set  upon  righteousness,  had  been  a 
thank-offering  from  another  donor. 

"  Psalm  126,  the  first  verse.  '  When  the  Lord  turned 
again  the  captivity  of  Zion — '  " 

By  way  of  prelude  to  this  boldly  hopeful  text,  Mr.  Roche 
had  just  announced  the  fall  of  Antwerp.  Scott  did  not  love 
the  new  chaplain,  but  he  could  not  deny  that  he  preached 
well,  or  that  he  got  hold  of  the  men.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  chapel  was  not  as  a  rule  what  one  might  call  devotional, 
but  this  morning  there  was  a  fullness  in  the  responses  and  a 
281 


282  CONVICT  B14 

clean-cut  hush  during  the  sermon  which  rather  touchingly 
reflected  the  general  state  of  feeling.  It  was  hard  in  1914 
to  be  a  prisoner,  since  even  criminals  may  love  their  country. 
Several  of  Scott's  patients  had  proclaimed  their  intention  of 
enlisting  the  moment  they  were  free.  As  months,  or  even 
years,  had  to  elapse  before  that  happy  time,  these  protesta- 
tions were  cheap  and  safe.  Others,  who  said  less,  perhaps 
felt  more.  Scott  had  been  sorry  for  many,  leashed  in  by 
their  punishment;  for  none  more  than  614. 

"  Con  —  found  —  their  —  pol  —  itics, 

Frus  —  trate  —  their  —  knav  —  ish  tricks  — " 

The  National  Anthem  having  been  roared  out  from  throats 
kept  artificially  silent  during  the  week,  chapel  was  dis- 
missed, and  it  was  the  immediate  duty  of  the  medical  officer 
to  take  the  casual  sick.  Scott  made  a  rush  to  his  house  for 
a  glance  at  The  Observer,  which  did  not  reach  Westby  till 
midday,  and  was  back  in  the  casualty  room  by  a  quarter 
to  twelve.  He  stood  at  a  desk,  with  Mackenzie,  as  chief 
warder,  beside  him,  and  a  table  covered  with  pills,  potions, 
and  ointments  ready  to  hand.  One  by  one,  as  their  names 
were  called,  the  patients  came  up  for  treatment. 

"  Mason  A2g,  sir." 

Mason  advanced,  a  doleful  wisp  of  a  man.  "  Well,  Mason, 
what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  sir,  I've  got  such  a  dreadful  cold  in 
my  head !  "  A  fruity  and  exhaustive  sniff  lent  point  to  the 
complaint. 

"  A  cold  in  the  head,  have  you  ?  Give  me  your  hand. 
Now  let's  see  your  tongue.  H'm !  Dose  of  No.  7." 

No.  7  was  poured  out,  Mason  choked  over  it,  and  was 
passed  out  by  the  opposite  door.  "  Next,"  said  Scott. 

"Gardiner  614,  sir." 

This  was  unexpected.  Gardiner  614  stood  cheerfully 
submissive,  nursing  his  hand,  which  was  wrapped  in  his 
clean  Sunday  handkerchief. 

"  Hullo,  you  in  the  wars  again  ?  What's  the  matter  now, 
hey?" 


THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN  283 

"  Bad  thumb,  sir,"  said  Gardiner,  gingerly  unrolling  it. 
Yes,  his  hand  had  broken  out  again.  "  I  shall  have  to  lance 
this,"  snapped  Scott,  and  did  so,  with  inward  ruth.  After 
twenty  years  of  practice,  he  still  hated  inflicting  pain. 
"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself?  Why  didn't  you 
come  to  me  before  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  never  thought  twice  about  it  till  this  morning. 
I  knocked  it  on  a  nail ;  I  thought  it  would  get  all  right." 

"  Get  all  right  ?  Get  all  wrong !  Your  blood  must  be  in 
a  shocking  state.  Ever  have  anything  of  this  sort  before 
you  came  here  ?  " 

"  N-no,  I  don't  know  that  I  have.  I  expect  perhaps  it's 
the  confinement ;  I'm  not  used  to  it,  you  know." 

"  H'm !  well,  your  time's  up  next  month,  isn't  it?  and 
then  you'll  be  free  to  get  some  war  work,  which  is  what 
you're  fidgeting  after,  aren't  you?  Take  care  of  that  hand, 
and  don't  go  jabbing  nails  into  it,  unless  you  want  to  lose 
it  altogether.  Two  thousand  men  of  the  Naval  Division 
have  crossed  the  Dutch  frontier  and  will  have  to  be  in- 
terned. Next." 

Bi4,  with  the  faint  suggestion  of  a  smile,  went  the  way  of 
A29,  and  Scott  looked  after  him  with  a  sigh  and  the  faint 
suggestion  of  a  frown.  Ever  since  his  night  in  the  padded 
cell  it  had  been  the  same;  Gardiner  was  polite,  and  even 
friendly,  but  he  kept  his  distance.  With  no  one  is  a  re- 
served man  more  reserved  than  with  the  person  before  whom 
he  has  once  been  helplessly  open.  "  I've  lost  him  for  good," 
Scott  said  to  himself ;  and  another  sigh  came,  for  he  had  not 
many  friends.  But  he  was  right,  it  was  irrevocable;  Gard- 
iner had  definitively  snapped  the  thread. 

Sunday  is  a  day  of  rest.  Prisoners  attend  chapel  twice, 
they  have  two  separate  hours  of  exercise,  morning  and 
afternoon  ;  at  half-past  four  they  go  to  their  cells  for  supper, 
and  are  then  locked  up  for  the  night.  In  winter,  all  Bgfatl 
are  put  out.  In  summer,  many  read  in  bed.  But  on  the 
brightest  of  June  mornings  Gardiner's  cell  was  barely  light 
enough  for  that;  and  by  five  o'clock  in  October  it  was  as 
black  as  a  cave.  He  had  finished  his  supper,  and  was  screw- 


284  CONVICT  B14 

ing  up  his  patience  to  endure  the  interminable  night,  when 
his  door  opened  to  admit  that  very  welcome  sight,  a  visitor 
—  Mr.  Roche  the  chaplain. 

"  I  meant  to  get  round  before,  but  I  haven't  had  a  mo- 
ment; I've  been  up  to  my  eyes  in  business  the  whole  day. 
But  I  thought  I  might  just  catch  you  before  bed-time. 
How  are  you,  eh  ?  " 

"Very  well,  thank  you,  sir.  Very  glad  to  see  you." 
Gardiner's  manner  was  an  odd  blend  of  orthodox  respect  and 
unorthodox  friendliness.  It  had  its  counterpart  in  Roche's 
own:  he  could  not  quite  shake  off  the  condescension  of  the 
chaplain,  yet  he  did  not  take  possession  of  the  prisoner's 
stool  and  leave  him  to  stand.  The  consequence  was  that 
both  kept  their  feet. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  Gardi-ner,  I've  come  to  say  good-by. 
I  shan't  have  another  chance ;  I'm  off  first  thing  to-morrow." 

"  Off  on  leave,  sir  ?  " 

"  Off  for  good.  I'm  leaving  the  prison.  It's  been  in  the 
air  for  some  time,  but  it  was  only  finally  arranged  last  night. 
I've  said  nothing  about  it,  because  I  didn't  want  a  fuss ;  but 
I  could  not  leave  without  seeing  you." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Gardiner,  smiling.  "  You'll  be  missed. 
I'm  glad  my  time's  nearly  up.  Are  you  going  to  another 
prison,  or  is  it  an  ordinary  parish  job?  " 

"  Neither.     I  am  joining  up." 

"  Chaplain  to  the  forces  ?  " 

"  Better  than  that.  I  enlist."  Gardiner's  face,  in  the  first 
moment  of  surprise,  was  more  expressive  than  he  could 
have  wished.  Roche,  with  his  odd  touch  of  the  theatrical, 
laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  You  envy  me  ?  "  he  asked, 
his  voice  thrilling  and  deepening.  "  Never  mind,  my  poor 
fellow,  your  turn  will  come.  Another  month  and  you  too 
will  be  free  to  do  your  bit  with  the  best  of  us.  In  the  service 
of  your  country  there  is  no  respect  of  persons  — " 

The  hand  was  vigorously  shaken  off,  and  Gardiner  stepped 
back.  "I'll  be  shot  if  I'm  going  to  let  you  patronize  me! 
If  you  think  that  because  you  happen  to  be  the  Honorable 
and  Reverend  Dalrymple-Roche,  and  I'm  614 —  Why,  I 


THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN  285 

was  round  the  world  and  back  again  before  you  were  out  of 
your  schoolroom !  "  He  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Gardiner  — " 

"  No,  no,  wait  a  bit ;  let  me  finish  what  I've  got  to  say, 
now  I've  begun.  I've  had  it  on  my  mind  for  some  time ;  I 
meant  to  save  it  up  for  when  I  got  out,  but  as  it  seems  I 
shan't  have  the  chance  then  I'll  do  it  now.  You've  been  very 
decent  to  me,  and  you've  kept  me  going  through  a  rather 
beastly  time,  and  I  don't  forget  that,  and  I  don't  want  to  let 
it  all  lapse,  and  I  rather  think  you  don't  either ;  but  I  won't  be 
patronized.  I  may  be  in  prison,  but  I've  done  nothing  I'm 
ashamed  of,  and  I  do  not  consjder  myself  disgraced.  Got 
that  ?  "  The  words  were  not  bluff,  they  were  plain  truth ; 
very  telling  was  his  vigorous  independence.  "  Well,  then,  if 
I  pay  you  deference  here  it's  because  discipline  has  to  be 
maintained,  and  incidentally  because  I  should  get  it  hot  if 
I  didn't.  For  that  reason,  and  for  no  other;  certainly  not 
because  I  feel  deferential.  Deferential!  You  wait  till 
you've  cut  your  wisdom  teeth,  my  son,  before  you  start 
preaching  to  me.  There;  I've  done.  You  can  report  me  if 
you  like  —  sir." 

Roche  had  colored  up ;  he  looked  very  haughty  and  very 
angry.  "  I  think  you  forget  yourself,"  he  began,  and  then 
his  mobile  face  changed.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Gardiner ; 
you  are  perfectly  right.  I  have  no  business  to  patronize 
you.  I  don't  mean  to  do  it ;  but  it's  the  more  or  less  official 
manner,  and  one  slips  into  it  —  to  tell  the  truth,  that's  one 
reason  why  I  want  to  get  away." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  lots  of  parsons  have  a  turn  for 
magniloquence,"  said  Gardiner,  with  a  laugh,  "  and  if  you 
do  it  again  I  shall  tell  you  again,  that's  all.  You  inevitably 
will.  And  so  you  mean  to  enlist?  Ho  ho!"  His  smile 
broadened  as  he  ran  his  eye  over  Roche's  handsome  figure. 
He  did  not  say,  "  You  won't  like  that,  my  friend,"  but  he 
thought  it. 

"  The  French  priests  take  their  places  in  the  ranks,  said 
Roche,  "why  not  we?  I  put  that  to  my  bishop.  He  re- 
fused to  release  me.  One  must  act  on  one's  own  conscience 


286  CONVICT  B14 

in  these  matters.  I  am  a  priest,  it  is  my  duty  to  lead  men ; 
when  peace  comes,  how  can  I  expect  them  to  follow  me,  if 
during  the  war  I  have  been  skulking  behind  my  cloth  here 
in  England?  /  would  not  follow  such  a  man.  If  the  clergy 
shirk  now,  they  will  be  digging  the  Church's  grave." 

"  Very  sound  sentiments.  I  have  an  old  daddy,  and  if 
he  were  thirty  years  younger  —  thank  goodness  he  isn't,  for 
he'd  certainly  get  shot.  Well,  I  congratulate  you.  Mind 
my  finger,  I'm  still  rather  frail."  Roche  had  wrung  his 
hand  with  more  fervor  than  discretion.  "  Funny  beggar 
you  are !  "  Gardiner  added,  with  the  laugh  in  his  eyes  that 
was  often  there  when  he  talked  to  Roche.  "  You  won't  get 
shot.  Bet  you  what  you  like  you  come  out  with  the  V.C. !  " 

"  Priests  don't  bet." 

"  Privates  do,  though.  Not  that  you'll  stay  a  private. 
You'll  be  offered  a  commission  — " 

"  I  shan't  accept  it,"  Roche  declared. 

"  More  fool  you,  then,  for  you're  just  the  sort  they  want. 
You  lucky  beggar  —  oh,  you  lucky  beggar !  " 

The  hunger  of  envy  peeped  out.  Roche,  at  times  self-ab- 
sorbed and  blind,  had  at  other  times  an  Irish  quickness  of 
perception. 

"  Gardiner  —  I'm  sorry !  Perhaps  after  all,  if  a  competent 
surgeon  sees  your  hand,  instead  of  that  wretched  little  saw- 
bones — " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  I  shall  get  my  whack  by  and  by,  even 
if  I  can't  go  into  the  trenches.  Which  reminds  me:  you 
won't  forget  to  put  through  that  little  bit  of  business  I  asked 
you  about,  will  you?  (There's  old  Busy  Bee  locking  up  for 
the  night,  you'll  have  to  clear  out  in  two  twos.)  Just  a  word 
of  introduction  to  Lord  Ronayne,  that's  all  I  want.  You 
see  a  criminal  just  out  of  jail  does  need  some  sort  of  spon- 
sor." Gardiner's  grin  was  quite  free  from  bitterness. 

"  I  won't  forget,"  said  Roche  hurriedly,  "  I  hadn't  for- 
gotten. I  can  answer  for  my  father.  Good-by,  Gardiner  — 
God  bless  you !  " 

Again  he  wrung  the  prisoner's  hand,  and  again  left  him 


THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN  287 

laughing  and  swearing  and  shaking  his  fingers  —  a  character- 
istic farewell. 

Chim-chime.  Chim-chime.  Chim-chime.  A  quarter  to 
five.  St.  Agnes'  clock  was  striking  as  Roche  came  out  into 
the  lilac  and  gold  of  the  October  sunset,  which  lightened 
and  broadened  down  the  clean  deserted  streets,  and  glittered 
like  tongues  of  fire  in  all  the  western  windows.  The  trees 
in  the  square  were  brilliant,  gold  lace  over  iron  filigree.  Be- 
yond them  three  tall  chimneys  stood,  slender,  black,  and 
tapering  against  the  cornflower-blue  of  distant  hills.  A  train, 
just  arrived  in  the  station,  was  veiling  itself  in  snowy  mist, 
sun-smitten ;  and  as  Roche  turned  into  the  High  Street  St. 
Agnes'  bells  began  to  play  The  King  of  Love,  merry  and 
clear,  a  sweet  little  rocking  tune  in  triplets.  How  bright  the 
town  was,  and  how  peaceful  in  its  Sunday  rest!  Not  a 
soul  was  about,  except  the  half-dozen  travelers  from  the 
train;  one  of  these,  a  tall  man  in  the  then  unfamiliar  uni- 
form of  the  Royal  Flying  Corps,  stopped  to  ask  Roche  the 
way  to  the  prison. 

In  Bi4's  cell  it  was  already  night.  There  was  no  sunshine 
here,  not  even  light  enough  for  him  to  throw  his  shoe  at  the 
blackbeetle  which  had  crawled  up  the  hot-water  pipes,  and 
was  running  about  on  the  concrete  floor.  Gardiner  lay  on 
his  back,  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  staring  at  the  gray 
oblong  of  his  window,  and  wondering  how  he  was  going  to 
get  through  the  thirteen  hours  of  darkness.  He  was  not 
laughing  now.  He  would  have  given  twenty  pounds  for  a 
candle  and  a  book  to  read,  fifty  for  a  cigarette  —  he  might 
as  well  have  offered  to  buy  the  moon. 

In  the  padded  cell  he  had  touched  bottom ;  nothing  could 
ever  be  so  bad  again  as  the  days  before  that  night,  in  their 
agony  of  impotence,  or  the  night  itself,  in  its  agony  of  des- 
pair. Prison  — it  was  a  tedious  business,  no  doubt,  but 
what  of  that  ?  He  could  only  wonder  why  he  had  ever  made 
a  fuss  about  such  a  trifle.  He  had  grappled  with  his  bogy, 
and  behold  it  turned  out  to  be  only  a  turnip-lantern  ghost 
after  all.  Difficulties,  once  surmounted,  have  a  way  of 


288  CONVICT  B14 

sinking  back  and  effacing  themselves  in  the  past ;  absorbed  in 
a  greater  trouble,  Gardiner  did  not  realize  that  he  had  at 
last  fought  and  won  the  battle,  long  impending,  which  made 
him  master  of  himself. 

He  did  believe,  from  the  first  he  had  never  doubted,  that 
Lettice  was  dead.  Wandesforde's  message,  which  he  faith- 
fully delivered  in  person,  had  not  shaken  that  conviction.  It 
had  only  made  him  feel  that  Denis  was  dead  too.  Yes,  they 
were  both  gone ;  but  Gardiner  no  longer  held  himself  respon- 
sible. That  dreadful  crazy  feeling  of  guilt,  which  his  sanity, 
half  insane,  had  used  to  save  him  from  himself,  had  passed 
with  the  crisis  it  provoked.  He  had  not  killed  her ;  yet  she 
was  dead,  and  he  missed  her  more  instead  of  less  every  day ; 
every  day  he  came  upon  fresh  tracts  of  his  mind  marked 
broad  with  her  mark,  and  saw  with  dismay  the  widening 
scope  of  his  loss.  But  no  one  knew  of  it,  and  no  one  was  go- 
ing to  know,  through  him.  "  Not  that  anybody  would  be  par- 
ticularly interested,"  he  reflected.  "  My  dear  daddy  —  he 
would,  bless  his  heart,  but  he'll  never  see,  and  I  shall  never 
tell  him;  he'd  get  the  shock  of  his  life  to  think  I  was  old 
enough  to  want  to  get  married.  Married !  Oh,  my  Lord,  I 
wish  I  had  married  her ;  I  could  have  stood  it  better  now  if 
I'd  ever  had  one  ounce  of  satisfaction.  .  .  .  And  besides 
daddy,  who  else  ?  Tom  ?  Roche  ?  I  don't  think !  "  He 
laughed.  "  Little  Scott,  then  —  he'd  be  all  agog,  but  he 
isn't  going  to  have  the  chance,  confound  him!  I  wish  old 
Denis  were  here.  I  could  have  talked  to  him.  He  would 
have  understood.  He  knew  me  pretty  well,  did  Denis,  after 
all  these  years.  I  wonder  how  I'm  going  to  get  on  without 
him.  '  Their  soul  was  much  discouraged  because  of  the 
way.'  Hard  going :  that's  what  I'm  to  expect,  I  suppose,  for 
the  rest  of  my  wanderings  in  this  wilderness.  .  .  .  There  was 
a  lot  of  likeness  between  them  at  bottom.  I  expect  that's 
why  I  feel  as  though  I'd  known  her  all  my  life  and  before  I 
was  born  —  I  did  know  her,  in  him.  But  he  would  always 
try  to  hide  his  dear  old  head  in  a  bag  whenever  I  did  any- 
thing to  upset  his  little  feelings,  and  she  never  did.  Not  she ! 
She'd  go  picking  her  way  with  her  little  lamp  round  all  your 


THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN  289 

dark  corners,  inexorably  showing  you  every  cobweb  and 
every  speck  of  dust  that  her  highness  didn't  approve,  and 
all  without  a  word  spoken,  just  by  the  poise  of  that  darling 
little  head  of  hers  and  those  inimitable  hazel  eyes  —  hazel  ? 
No,  b'  Jove !  What  was  it  she  used  to  say?  '  Weak  Bovril, 
with  little  bits  of  carrot  floating  about ' —  oh,  Lettice,  Let- 
tice !  oh,  why  the  devil  did  I  let  myself  begin  on  this?  " 

He  flung  his  arm  across  his  eyes,  as  if  he  would  have  hid- 
den his  trouble  even  from  himself.  Blind  instinct  had  first 
dragged  him  to  Lettice,  a  straw  in  the  current ;  he  felt  he 
needed  her  long  before  he  knew  he  loved  her.  But  love,  and 
even  passion,  had  come  since,  flooding  in  by  back  ways,  fill- 
ing him  to  the  brim.  He  was  tormented  by  his  lost  oppor- 
tunities. "  When  I  had  her  to  myself  there  in  Rochehaut, 
why  didn't  I  make  her  marry  me?  She'd  have  done  it  if  I'd 
put  the  screw  on;  you  can  get  pretty  well  anything  out  of 
Lettice  if  she's  only  sorry  enough  for  you.  Or  here  in 
prison,  why  couldn't  I  have  put  my  arm  round  that  little 
waist  of  hers  and  taken  a  kiss  ?  What  would  she  have  done 
if  I  had?  Would  she  have  had  the  impertinence  to  ruffle 
up  all  her  pretty  feathers  and  make  believe  to  be  affronted? 
Or  could  I  ha\e  got  right  down  through  all  her  defenses  to 
the  very  heart  of  her,  and  made  her  drop  her  lashes,  and 
color,  and  —  acknowledge  me  ?  I'd  give  my  eyes  to  know, 
and  I  never  shall,  never.  She  had  more  reticences  and  re- 
serves and  evasions  than  any  human  being  I  have  ever  met. 
She  was  as  delicate  as  the  bloom  on  a  butterfly.  Angelita 
de  mi  corazon,  I  would  have  respected  your  little  fads ;  you 
should  have  kept  your  fenced  garden  and  your  fountain 
sealed.  I  could  have  held  your  life  in  my  hand  and  never 
closed  my  fingers  on  it  —  yes,  I  could ;  even  that.  ^  I  was 
your  very  true  lover.  I  wonder,  was  it  a  bayonet  — 

To  this  precipice  Gardiner  always  came,  sooner  or  later. 
We  talk  of  unimaginable  horrors ;  there  were  none  he  had 
not  imagined.  How  do  men  live,  w.ith  thoughts  like  these? 
God  knows.  ft 

"  614,  are  ye  waukin  ?    Ye're  to  dress  and  come  wi  me. 

"  Hullo !  is  that  Mr.  Mackenzie?    What's  up? " 


290  CONVICT  B14 

"  It's  a  veesitor  for  ye." 

"  A  visitor  at  this  time  of  night  ?  Here's  an  exciting  go ! 
Who  is  it  —  an  officer  ?  Big  man  in  the  R.F.C.  ?  " 

Mackenzie  shook  his  head.  "  I  canna  tell  ye,  for  I  havena 
seen  him." 

"  Now  I  wonder  what  good  you  think  you  are  ? "  said 
Gardiner,  sitting  up,  laughing,  blinking  at  the  light.  "  Rous- 
ing me  out  of  my  beauty  sleep!  Yes,  I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir,  and  all  that,  but  I'm  coming  out  quite  soon,  you  know. 
Hold  the  light,  do  you  mind,  and  let  me  find  my  socks  ?  " 

He  laughed  in  self-defense,  and  he  asked  questions  for 
form's  sake ;  but  he  knew  all  the  time  that  this  was  his  doom. 
Only  an  urgent  messenger  would  have  been  admitted  at  this 
hour.  It  was  Wandesforde,  come  to  tell  him  how  she  had 
died.  That  thought  went  with  him  down  the  twilit  passages, 
it  stood  sentinel  before  the  yellow-glimmering  door  of  the 
visitors'  room.  "  Ye've  half-an-hour,"  said  Mackenzie  in 
business-like  tones  as  he  turned  the  handle.  Gardiner  drew 
a  long  breath  and  walked  through  the  specter  into  the 
room. 

A  long-legged  officer  stood  up.  Wandesforde?  No. 
Oh,  good  God! 

"  She's  safe,"  said  Denis  instantly.  "  Here,  hold  on,  old 
man ;  it's  all  right !  " 

Gardiner  was  not  all  right ;  he  was  nearly  fainting.  By 
and  by  he  found  himself  sitting  in  a  chair,  still  gripping 
Denis  with  both  hands,  while  Denis  patted  him  gently  on 
the  back. 

"  She's  all  right,"  he  kept  repeating  —  wise  Denis,  to  harp 
on  the  one  thing  that  mattered.  "  Quite  all  right ;  quite  safe. 
Gently  does  it.  Better  now,  are  you  ?  " 

Yes,  Gardiner  was  better  and  he  said  so  with  decision. 
Denis  withdrew  to  the  other  side  of  the  table  and  sat  smil- 
ing at  him. 

"We  got  back  last  night.  We've  been  together  all  the 
time.  Didn't  Wandesforde  tell  you?  I  went  first  to  the 
W.O.  to  report  myself,  and  then  straight  on  to  get  leave 
to  see  you.  Even  a  Government  department  has  bowels 


THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN  291 

these  days.  I  wanted  Lettice  to  come  too,  but  she  said  she 
thought  you'd  rather  not,  so  she's  gone  down  to  her  own 
people  in  Kent.  Rather  rough  luck  on  them  all  this  time, 
what?  She  sent  her  love." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Gardiner,  leaning  back  and  composing  him- 
self to  listen.  "  Begin  at  the  beginning  and  go  on  to  the  end, 
then  stop.  Lord!  I  wish  you'd  asked  the  bowelful  Home 
Office  to  let  me  have  a  smoke  while  you  were  about  it. 
Anda,  caballerito !  Let's  have  the  'ole  of  the  'orrible  de- 
tails." 

Denis  launched  into  his  tale.  He  began,  as  directed,  with 
the  raid  on  Aix,  and  his  soft  Irish  tongue  ran  on  fluently  till 
he  came  to  the  Bellevue.  "  I  can't  tell  you  what  it  was  like 
to  see  it,  Harry.  It's  one  thing  to  read  about  these  things, 
safe  here  in  England;  but  to  see  it  —  a  place  you've 
known  — " 

"  A  place  you  own,"  said  Gardiner  grimly.  "  Yes,  that's 
what  these  beastly  pacifists  never  seem  to  grasp.  On  a 
toujours  assez  de  force  —  they'd  sing  a  different  song  if  it 
was  their  own  mau-x  instead  of  those  of  autrui.  Poor  old 
Bellevue.  Well,  I'll  build  it  up  again.  Go  ahead.  What 
happened  next  ? " 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course  I  had  to  ask  about  it  —  them  —  I  was 
a  bit  reckless,  I  suppose.  I  went  down  and  hailed  a  man  in 
the  road.  He  told  me  they  were  safe  at  the  Hasquins'  farm. 
And  so  while  we  were  talkin'  of  course  a  lot  of  beastly 
Boches  came  round  the  corner.  I  skipped  like  a  young  uni- 
corn, I  can  tell  you,  but  they  potted  me,  and  then  they 
chased  me  all  over  the  place.  But  I  dodged  'em  and  got  up 
into  the  fir  wood.  I  wanted  pretty  badly  to  see  for  my- 
self — " 

Gardiner  raised  his  eyebrows.    "  Bit  risky,  what  ? 

"  Ah,  but  I  never  meant  to  show  up.  I  was  goin'  to  lie 
doggo  and  get  off  again  after  dark.  It  was  Lettice  spied 
me  out  —  you  know  what  her  eyes  are."  Gardiner  nodded. 
"  I  do  blarne  myself,"  said  Denis  earnestly.  "  I'll  never  get 
over  it ;  but  I  was  bleedin'  like  a  pig  and  a  bit  muzzy-headei 
Well,  there  it  was,  anyway.  I  fainted,  and  they  did  what 


292  CONVICT  B14 

they  liked  with  me.  They  got  me  over  and  hid  me  in  the 
tower.  Remember  the  tower  ?  " 

Did  Gardiner  remember  the  tower?  He  remembered  it 
so  well,  and  saw  Lettice  beside  it  so  vividly,  that  he  fell 
silent,  and  let  Denis  tell  the  rest  of  his  tale  almost  without 
question.  They  had  stayed  at  the  farm  till  Denis  was  fit 
to  travel.  Then,  one  wet  evening,  they  set  out  to  tramp 
across  Belgium,  he  in  Monsieur  Hasquin's  blouse  and  loose 
trousers,  she  in  Madame's  Sunday  skirt.  "  She  didn't  like 
it  one  bit,"  said  Denis,  with  a  reminiscent  smile.  "  Wanted 
to  take  her  hair  curlers  in  the  bundle.  Very  annoyed  with 
me  because  I  wouldn't  let  her.  It  rankled  for  days."  Denis 
in  addition  had  his  scarred  face  tied  up  to  represent  tooth- 
ache. "  We  did  look  rather  scalawags,"  he  admitted.  They 
lay  up  by  day  and  walked  by  night,  keeping  mostly  to  the 
fields,  and  guiding  themselves  by  Denis's  pocket  compass. 
Once  the  cafe  where  they  were  at  supper  was  invaded  by 
soldiers,  who  luckily  took  no  notice  of  their  ragged  com- 
panions. Another  time  when  they  were  sheltering  in  a  barn 
some  Brandenburgers  came  in  to  search  for  fodder.  They 
did  not  search  behind  the  patent  reaper  in  the  corner.  Yet 
again  they  went  to  sleep  in  a  copse,  and  woke  to  find  they 
had  chosen  the  exercising  ground  of  a  squadron  of  cavalry. 
That  was  near  the  Dutch  frontier.  Next  night  they  crossed 
under  cover  of  darkness,  and  were  safe. 

"  Well,  I  consider  it  all  most  compromising  for  Lettice, 
and  if  you'd  a  spark  of  proper  feeling  you'd  offer  to  marry 
her,"  said  Gardiner,  yawning  with  his  arms  above  his  head, 
"  but  of  course  you  never  think  of  that,  selfish  brute.  Lord ! 
I  shall  sleep  like  a  pig  to-night.  Spoiled  your  beauty,  Denis," 
he  added,  looking  at  the  scar,  red  and  puckered.  Denis  put 
up  his  hand  to  the  place. 

"  That  was  our  friend  Fritz.  He  does  sometimes  score  a 
bull's-eye." 

"  Well,  it  seriously  detracts  from  your  market  value  as  a 
husband.  On  second  thought,  I'm  not  sure  but  Lettice  had 
better  put  up  with  me  after  all."  He  hesitated.  A  point 
that  had  not  escaped  him  was  Denis's  significant  change  of 


THE  ONE  SHALL  BE  TAKEN  293 

pronoun  in  the  latter  part  of  his  narrative  from  "  they  "  to 
"  she."  What  in  the  world  had  they  done  with  Dorothea? 
Left  her  behind  at  the  farm?  Anything  was  possible  with 
that  dear  lunatic!  He  had  no  thought  of  tragedy.  There 
seemed  no  room  for  it  in  Denis's  straightforward  tale,  and 
no  hint  of  it  in  his  quiet,  smiling  manner.  "  I  say,  Denis, 
I've  no  wish  to  be  indiscreet,  and  I'm  not  asking  if  I  ought 
to  hold  my  tongue  —  but  Wandesforde  said — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Denis,  "  I  was  comin'  to  that.     She  died." 

"  Died ! " 

"  Instead  of  me.  I'd  never  have  got  off  but  for  her.  She 
put  on  my  flying  kit  and  led  them  away  from  the  farm.  She 
was  always  keen  on  dressin'  up  as  a  boy.  Of  course  I'd 
have  stopped  it  if  I'd  known,  but  I  didn't ;  I  was  off  my  head. 
I  can't  tell  you  exactly  what  happened,  but  they  shot  her, 
and  they  hunted  her,  and  finally  they  rounded  her  up  in  the 
fir  wood.  The  officer  in  command  was  quite  a  decent  boy, 
Lettice  said;  she'd  have  been  all  right  if  she'd  given  herself 
up.  But  that  would  have  meant  givin'  me  up,  do  you  see, 
so  she  wouldn't  do  it.  She  crawled  into  one  of  those  caves 
up  there  and  refused  to  come  out." 

"Well?" 

"  They  bombed  her,"  said  Denis  simply.  "  Like  clearin'  a 
dug-out.  So  the  whole  place  fell  in.  She  must  have  counted 
on  that.  She  knew  it  wasn't  safe." 

"  That  was  pretty  fine,"  said  Gardiner  under  his  breath. 
He  could  find  nothing  more.  The  contrast  was  too  poignant. 
"  The  one  shall  be  taken  "—  but  Lettice  was  left. 

"  Yes,"  said  Denis.  "  I've  wondered,  Harry :  do  you  think 
there's  anything  in  that  Carth'lic  idea  of  prayers  for  the 
dead?" 

Gardiner,  with  those  expectant  dark  blue  eyes  fixed  on 
him  in  their  inveterate  simplicity,  found  himself  answering : 
"  Oh,  I  expect  — " 

"  Because,  you  see,  we  didn't  have  much  time  to  say 
things,"  Denis  explained.  "  I'm  sorry,  I  didn't  mean  to  bore 
you  with  this,  but  it's  been  rather  a  facer  for  me.  You 
know,  if  she'd  lived,  she'd  have  been  my  wife." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  old  Denis  — !  "  said  Gardiner. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
SHE  ALONE  CHARMETH  MY  SADNESS 

Oh,  believe  me,  Nell,  it  is  an  awful  thing1  to  be  a  wife. —  CHARLOTTE 
BRONTE. 

LETTICE,  dragging  up  the  steps  of  No.  33  Canning  Street, 
paused  to  unfasten  her  waterproof  and  shake  her  wet  um- 
brella. It  was  raining,  it  seemed  to  have  been  raining  ever 
since  she  got  back  to  town,  chill  November  rain,  a  yellow 
haze  down  every  street ;  and  the  weather  matched  her  mood. 
Ever  since  April  she  had  been  trying  to  shut  her  eyes  to  the 
future,  but  as  time  drew  on  it  refused  to  be  ignored.  It  lay 
in  wait  outside  the  Museum,  it  came  home  with  her  in  the 
Tube,  it  took  possession  of  her  attic,  it  was  translating  it- 
self with  appalling  rapidity  into  the  present,  and  she  was  no 
more  ready  for  it  than  she  had  been  months  ago. 

Well!  she  had  still  a  week's  grace,  and  anything  might 
happen  in  a  week.  Lettice  detached  her  mind  with  an  effort, 
picked  up  a  letter  from  the  hall  table,  and  came  upstairs 
at  a  snail's  pace,  reading  it.  Her  own  room  she  expected  to 
be  dark,  so  with  her  usual  deaf  and  blind  absorption  in 
anything  to  read  she  lingered  outside  on  the  landing.  She 
became  aware,  as  she  stood,  of  another  scent  mingling  with 
that  of  the  lamp,  of  another  clearer  light  than  its  brownish 
obscurity,  but  her  eyes  remained  glued  to  her  letter;  not 
till  she  had  reached  the  end  did  she  slowly  raise  them  from 
the  sheet,  and  then  she  saw  her  door  open,  her  room  full  of 
firelight,  a  white  cloth  gleaming,  a  dark  figure  standing  in 
the  entrance  watching  her  with  a  smile. 

"  Buenas  noches,  senorita,"  said  Gardiner,  politely  remov- 
ing his  cigarette. 

294 


SHE  ALONE  CHARMETH  MY  SADNESS     295 

"  O-o-oh  —  it's  you,"  said  Lettice  with  striking  originality. 

"  The  curse  is  come  upon  me ! "  suggested  Gardiner. 
His  smile  widened.  "  Exactly.  You  look  so  pleased !  " 

Lettice,  after  that  first  involuntary  pause  of  dismay,  had 
come  into  the  room ;  she  stood  by  the  table,  slowly,  slowly 
drawing  off  her  gloves. 

"  Well,  of  course  I'm  pleased ;  but  why,  why,  why  didn't 
you  let  me  know?  You  said  you  weren't  coming  out  till 
next  week ! " 

"  So  sorry,  but  I  didn't  know  myself.  It  was  little  Scott 
worked  the  oracle  —  said  I  was  in  a  bad  way  or  something." 
Lettice  said  nothing,  but  her  chin  had  a  mutinous  cock. 
"  Shall  I  go  back  again  ?  " 

"If  you'd  let  me  know  in  time"  said  Lettice,  "  I'd  have 
got  you  something  nice  for  tea.  Now  you'll  have  to  put  up 
with  what  there  is." 

That  minute  offended  voice,  that  reproachful  pianissimo 
drawl !  Gardiner  laughed  out. 

"  Lettice,  you're  inimitable !  I  swear  you  haven't  turned 
a  hair !  Do  you  know  —  do  you  know  you've  got  the  same 
button  off  the  same  coat  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't  expect  me  to  have  the  same  button 
off  another  coat,  would  you  ? " 

"  I  would  not  have  you  in  any  single  particular  in  any  de- 
gree different  from  what  you  are  now,"  Gardiner  declared. 
He  dropped  into  a  chair.     "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  shot 
me  out  yesterday;  and  if  it  comes  to  letting  people  know 
I  went  straight  off  to  Starbridge  under  the  impression  I 
should  find  you  in  the  bosom  of  your  family.    I  was  shown 
in  right  on  top  of  a  Belgian  work  party.     Awful 
out  again  with  my  tail  between  my  legs.    That  upset 
couldn't  even  face  you.     I  spent  the  night  m  the  fi 

"  It  was  raining."  , 

"Quite;  it  was.    I  was  under  a  tarpaulin  on  top  of 
stack      Oh  yes,  thanks,  I  slept  like  a  hog.     I  ve  been  drop- 
ping off  at  intervals  ever  since,  in  the  tram  or  any  old  Pla< 
Making  up  for  lost  time,  I  suppose. 


296  CONVICT  B14 

His  speech  ended  in  a  yawn.  Lettice  stole  a  glance  at  him 
out  of  the  tail  of  her  eye.  "  Were  you  sleeping  badly  right 
up  to  the  end  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  it's  been  rather  rotten.  Never  mind,  all  over  now. 
It's  good  to  be  out.  Brrr!  You  leave  that  toasting  fork 
alone.  Drop  it !  My  job.  You're  tired ;  you've  been  fag- 
ging all  day  in  the  B.M.  Sientese  listed,  sefiorita." 

"  You'll  burn  it,"  cried  Lettice,  defensively  holding  on. 
He  looked  up  lazily ;  his  black  eyes  were  melting  soft,  his 
voice  a  seductive  murmur. 

"  Ah !  prendita  mia,  don't  you  know  I'm  going  to  make 
your  toast  for  you  every  evening  of  your  life?  " 

Lettice  was  extinguished.  She  sat  down,  unwilling  but 
unresisting.  He  could  make  toast,  and  he  could  do  what  was 
far  more  difficult  and  unusual  —  make  her  obey  him.  He 
spoke  lightly,  but  he  was  watching  her  all  the  time ;  he  beset 
her  with  his  eyes.  They  said  bold  things,  but  he  did  not 
press  them ;  he  made  her  color,  and  he  laughed,  yet  he  did 
not  touch  her.  Why  he  did  it?  That  was  quite  plain;  he 
was  hoarding  up  his  happiness,  playing  cat  and  mouse,  hold- 
ing her  life  in  his  hand,  as  he  had  sworn  he  could,  without 
closing  his  fingers  on  it.  Lettice  knew  not  whether  to  be 
glad  or  sorry  at  the  respite. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Gardiner  yet?  "  she  asked.  She  pre- 
ferred talking  to  being  watched. 

"  Not  yet.  I'm  booked  for  Woodlands  to-night,  but  I 
thought  I'd  see  you  first  and  present  him  with  our  plans 
ready  made;  he  flurries  himself  over  anything  like  a  dis- 
cussion, dear  old  boy.  Bet  you  sixpence  you  don't  guess 
what  I  mean  to  do?  "  Lettice  looked  inquiring.  "  No ;  not 
enlist.  This  hand  does  me  out  of  that.  But  I've  a  job  in 
my  mind's  eye  that  will  do  me  quite  as  well  or  even  better. 
What  do  you  say  to  the  Secret  Service?  Don't  you  dare 
screw  your  nose  up  at  me !  "  ^  He  was  laughing  at  her  again. 
"  Seriously,  you  know,  I'm  cut  out  for  it.  I  pass  anywhere 
as  a  Spaniard,  and  though  I  say  it,  I  have  quite  a  pretty  turn 
for  finesse.  The  padre  at  the  prison,  Roche  his  name  was, 
has  a  father  who's  a  big  brass  hat  in  that  line,  and  he's  giv- 


SHE  ALONE  CHARMETH  MY  SADNESS     297 

ing  me  a  leg  up.  I  shall  go  directly  I'm  fit.  I'm  still  pretty 
frail;  I  wouldn't  trust  myself  not  to  leg  it  out  of  a  tight 
place,  which  at  best  would  be  ignominious,  and  might  lead  to 
a  handy  wall  and  a  firing  squad  —  oh,  wouldn't  suit  my  book 
at  all.  No.  I  give  myself  a  fat  month.  I've  certain  plans 
for  that  month  which  I  propose  presently  to  lay  before  you. 
You  go  raspberry-pink  when  you  blush,  Laetitia  Jane;  did 
you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Will  you  have  some  more  tea  ?  "  asked  Lettice  repres- 
sively. 

"  No,  I  will  not  have  some  more  tea.  No,  and  I  won't 
have  a  cigarette  either.  You  are  a  little  liar,  you  hate  smoke. 
I  got  that  out  of  that  pretty  sister  of  yours  —  by  the  way,  I 
think  I  can  get  round  your  people  without  much  trouble ; 
I'm  rather  a  dog,  you  know,  when  I  give  my  mind  to  it. 
Always  well  to  be  on  good  terms  with  your  in-laws  —  but 
that's  not  the  point  at  present.  I've  certain  plans  for  this 
next  month,  as  I  said ;  but  before  we  discuss  them  this  house 
will  go  into  committee  on  ways  and  means.  The  sad  fact 
is  that,  bar  a  few  pounds  in  the  bank,  I'm  a  blooming  pauper. 
Every  cent  I  possess  went  with  the  Bellevue.  I  suppose  a 
grateful  country  will  support  me  while  I'm  lying  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Hun  —  What  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that 
for?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Know  what  ?  " 

"  About  your,  your  —  your  what  do  you  call  it." 

"My  —  ?" 

"  It  was  in  Denis's  letter.  I've  just  heard  from  him. 
About  Dot  O'Connor." 

"  Lucid,  very,"  said  Gardiner.  "  Get  a  move  on,  darling. 
Steady  over  the  stones.  What  about  Dot  O'Connor?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  telling  you  as  fast  as  I  can.  You,  you,  you 
do  hurry  me  so,"  Lettice  complained.  She  took  breath  and 
tried  again.  "  She,  she  —  it  was  her  will.  You  heard  she 
left  him  a  lot  of  money  for  his  old  aeroplanes?  " 

Gardiner  nodded.  "  Yes,  that  was  in  The  Mail.  '  Be- 
quest to  an  Airman.'  Roche  told  me.  I  was  very  glad 


298  CONVICT  B14 

about  it;  poor  dear  old  chap,  it'll  be  something  to  take  his 
mind  off.  But  I  don't  see — " 

"  Well,  she's  left  you  some  too.  To  show  her  gratitude 
for  your  consideration." 

"  How  much?  Five  thousand?  Good  Lord !  I  say,  Let- 
tice,  I  can't  possibly  take  it !  "  Lettice  was  silent.  "  Don't 
you  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"  No.     I  think  you  should." 

"  After  all  that's  happened  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  never  did  hate  her,  did  you  ?  "  said  Lettice. 
"  And  she  didn't  hate  you,  at  any  rate  not  at  the  last.  She'd 
be  sorry  if  you  refused." 

"  No,  I  never  hated  her,"  said  Gardiner.  He  lay  back, 
thinking.  "  I  say,  Lettice." 

"Well?" 

"  I  say,  I  was  cut  up  over  that  business.  Weren't  you  ?  " 
Lettice  nodded.  He  leaned  forward,  fingering  the  fringe 
of  her  tea-cloth.  "  Not  for  Denis's  sake,  I  don't  mean,  but 
for  her  own.  I  —  I  liked  her,  you  know.  You  couldn't 
help  feeling  she  ought  to  have  been  such  a  jolly  kid !  " 

"  I  owe  her  a  good  deal,"  said  Lettice  on  a  rare  impulse. 

"You  do?" 

"  She  stuck  a  knife  into  a  German  for  me." 

Gardiner  looked  up  quickly.     "  In  time  ?  " 

"If  it  hadn't  been  I  shouldn't  be  here,"  said  Lettice  very 
concisely. 

"  H'm,"  said  Gardiner.  His  face  was  expressionless. 
Lettice  wondered  what  he  was  thinking.  She  was  apt  to 
go  astray  in  other  people's  thoughts  where  they  concerned 
herself,  because  she  habitually  underrated  her  own  signifi- 
cance. She  wished  she  had  not  told  him.  She  had  never 
told  Denis.  She  scourged  herself  for  giving  confidences 
unasked. 

There  came  a  pause.  Gardiner  seemed  deep  in  thought. 
Lettice  with  a  darkened  face  was  noiselessly  putting  cups 
and  saucers  together.  She  hoped  to  get  out  of  the  room 
without  attracting  his  attention,  but  he  shot  out  of  his  chair 
in  time  to  open  the  door. 


SHE  ALONE  CHARMETH  MY  SADNESS     299 

"  Where  are  you  off  to  with  those  things  ? " 

"  It's  Beatrice's  afternoon  out,  and  I'm  going  to  carry 
them  down  into  the  basement,"  said  Lettice  in  an  uninviting 
hurry.  She  was  afraid  he  would  offer  to  come  too,  but  he 
did  not,  nor  did  her  tone  provoke  a  smile. 

"  Hurry  up  back,  then,  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  was  all  he 
said. 

Lettice  did  not  hurry  back ;  she  stayed  to  wash  up,  a  work 
of  supererogation,  found  half-a-dozen  other  unnecessary 
things  to  do,  loitered  on  the  stairs,  delayed  on  the  landing. 
She  had  at  last  to  force  herself  to  the  door  against  a  reluc- 
tance like  a  pain ;  and  then  she  halted  on  the  threshold.  He 
had  fallen  asleep. 

Lettice  crossed  the  floor  with  her  soft,  slow  step  and  stood 
looking  down  on  him.  Awake,  except  for  being  thinner,  he 
was  not  so  much  changed  from  his  old  self;  asleep,  he 
showed  the  ravages  of  the  past  twelvemonth  —  helplessly, 
openly.  Lettice  knew  without  being  told  that  he  hated  to  be 
watched  in  his  sleep  for  that  very  reason,  because  he  could 
not  guard  his  secrets ;  yet  he  trusted  himself  unreservedly 
to  her.  He  and  his  secrets  were  quite  at  her  mercy.  It  was 
too  much ;  he  gave  too  much  and  he  asked  too  much.  So 
unlike  Denis,  who  asked  nothing,  took  things  for  granted, 
never  criticized  either  himself  or  her!  But  this  alert,  rest- 
less, observant  mind,  for  ever  analyzing  and  appraising  — 
how  was  she  to  cope  with  it  ?  She  felt  like  a  mole  dragged 
into  the  sunshine. 

There  was  some  affinity  between  them,  and  she  had  power 
over  him  —  yes ;  but  she  did  not  want  it.  She  only  longed 
to  creep  back  underground.  She  could  give  him  friendship, 
she  could  even  give  him  love  of  the  quality  she  gave  to 
Denis,  provided  he  asked  no  more;  if  he  did  ask  more,  all 
her  instincts  bent  away  from  him  towards  something  very 
like  hostility.  What  was  she  going  to  do,  then  ?  Keep  her 
word,  that  of  course;  but  how?  Could  she  deceive  him? 
She  could  not;  that  was  just  what  she  found  intolerable. 
But  if  she  did  not,  would  he  be  satisfied?  Or  would  he 
actually  enjoy  holding  her  against  her  will?  Lettice  was 


300  CONVICT  B14 

not  sure.  He  was  not  cruel,  but  he  was  passionate,  and  pas- 
sion is  cruel.  He  made  her  conscious,  always,  that  he  was 
a  man.  Entangled  in  the  personal  relation,  her  judgment 
was  all  astray. 

Well !  she  supposed  she  must  set  her  teeth  and  do  the  best 
she  could.  After  all,  the  fault  was  hers,  not  his,  the  unnat- 
ural lack  was  in  her.  Remembering  little  Dorothea's  free- 
hearted giving,  Lettice  despised  her  own  sterility. 

But  there  was  a  deeper  affinity  between  them  than  she 
knew ;  and  he  showed  it  now  by  answering  the  call  of  her 
presence  and  waking  under  her  eyes.  He  woke  in  terror, 
with  her  name  on  his  lips,  a  cry  of  agony,  which  changed, 
when  he  saw  her,  to  relief  —  instantaneous.  He  turned  and 
hid  his  face  against  her,  in  the  gesture  of  a  frightened  child. 
Lettice  never  forgot  that  moment.  It  was  a  sword  through 
her  heart.  She  drew  a  deep  breath;  without  impulse,  de- 
liberately rather,  she  put  her  arm  round  his  shoulders  and 
held  him  there,  strong  to  comfort.  Her  face  was  stern. 
.  .  .  Moments  passed;  little  by  little  the  tremors  and  the 
quick  uneven  breathing  subsided.  He  sat  up. 

"Apologies,"  he  said  with  a  half-laugh,  unconcealably 
shaken,  but  unashamed. 

"  Do  you  often  wake  like  that?  "  asked  Lettice  unsmiling. 

"  Do  I  ?  Occasionally.  When  I  get  the  jim-jams.  Yes, 
I  have  pretty  often  lately.  It's  all  your  fault,  you  know." 

"My  fault?" 

"That  story  of  yours,  that  particular  danger  —  well,  it 
happened  to  be  my  particular  nightmare.  I  don't  think  there 
were  many  minutes  when  it  was  out  of  my  head.  I  kept 
it  under  mostly  during  the  day,  but  at  night  it  used  to  wear 
through  and  wake  me  up.  I  used  to  visualize  it  in  all  sorts 
of  variations.  You,  Lettice,  who  hate  to  have  a  hand  laid 
on  you — " 

"  Who  told  you  I  disliked  that?  " 

"  You  have  yourself,  a  dozen  times." 

She  let  that  pass.  "  I  am  thankful  you  are  out  of  that 
place,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  half  to  herself.  He  smiled. 

"  I'm  all  right,  darling.     Or  I  soon  shall  be,  when  — " 


SHE  ALONE  CHARMETH  MY  SADNESS     301 

"When  what?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Gardiner.  "I  shall  be  all  right  soon." 
He  captured  the  hand  which  hung  by  her  side  and  kissed  it 
softly,  inside  and  out.  "  It's  been  rather  sport  pulling  your 
tail  when  you've  always  tried  to  pull  mine,  but  I  can't  keep 
it  up  any  longer.  Are  you  going  to  give  me  what  I  want, 
Lettice  of  my  heart?" 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  You.  All  of  you.  Mind  as  well  as  body.  Mind  prin- 
cipally. I  told  you  before,  I  tell  you  again,  it  was  you 
brought  me  through.  You  have  me  — all  of  me.  And  if 
I'm  better  worth  having  than  I  was  a  year  ago,  it's  your 
doing.  I  claim  no  credit.  I  put  myself  into  your  hands 
to  do  what  you  like  with.  Will  you  take  on  the  job  ? " 
Lettice  did  not  answer  —  could  not  answer ;  she  was  in 
travail,  and  hers  was  no  easy  delivery.  Gardiner  looked  up. 
"  My  God,  you  don't  want  to !  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  quickly.     *'  I  will  marry  you." 

"  No,  you  won't.     I  decline." 

"  You  —  you  don't  understand.     I  will  marry  you." 

"  Oh,  damn,"  said  Gardiner.  "  Oh,  I  can't  stand  this. 
It's  quite  all  right.  I  can  get  on  without  you."  He  stood 
by  the  table,  striking  match  after  match  in  vain  efforts  to 
light  his  cigarette;  when  he  had  it  burning,  he  threw  it 
away.  Then  he  began  on  the  matches  again ;  the  floor  was 
strewn  with  broken  ends.  "  My  darling,  it  really  is  all 
right.  I  should  have  seen  it  before  if  I  hadn't  been  an  ass. 
What  you  can't  give  is  the  least  part  of  what  I  want.  Put 
me  on  the  same  ration  as  Denis,  and  I  shall  do  famously." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  said  Lettice,  "  and  I  am  such  a 
dolt  — " 

"  Lettice,  I  will  not  take  what  you  don't  want  to  give. 
I  saw  what  you  were  feeling.  Think  you  could  take  me  in 
after  we  were  married?  Think  I  should  enjoy  the  position? 
I  tell  you  one  reason  why  your  instincts  are  rebelling  now, 
and  that's  the  — the  — what  that  poor  child  killed.  Isn't  it 
so  ?  "  Lettice  was  mute.  "  Well,  do  you  think  I  want  to 
even  myself  with  that?" 


302  CONVICT  B14 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  think,"  said  Lattice  with  staccato 
distinctness,  "  and  I  am  going  to  marry  you." 

He  turned  and  seized  her  shoulders.  "  Lettice,  you  don't 
love  me?"  She  was  dumb  again.  "Do  you?  Do  you? 
Lettice  —  alma  de  mi  vida,  nina  de  mi  corazon  —  saladisima, 
preciosisima,  hermosisima  — " 

If  he  had  never  known  it  before,  he  saw  now  that  he  had 
power  over  her ;  she  could  not  resist  that  tone.  "  Well,  I 
can't  have  you  waking  up  like  that,  can  I  ?  " 

"  How  would  you  have  me  wake  ? "  asked  Gardiner 
under  his  breath.  He  did  not  know  what  he  expected,  cer- 
tainly not  what  he  got:  a  swift  turn,  Lettice's  face  grim 
with  feeling,  her  hands  strongly  drawing  him  down  against 
her  heart.  She  said  not  a  syllable,  but  she  held  him  there ; 
and  by  and  by  she  bent  her  graceful  little  neck  and  kissed 
him,  the  oddest  little  salute,  it  might  have  been  called  a  peck, 
quite  definite  and  not  at  all  shy.  Gardiner  sprang  up, 
flushed,  impassioned,  freeing  himself  from  her  arms  to  seize 
her  in  his  own ;  then  holding  her  off,  with  one  lingering 
scruple  — "  Sure  it's  all  right,  Lettice  ?  Sure  you  don't 
mind?  I  swear  I'll  take  nothing  you  don't  freely  give  — 
now  or  as  your  husband,  nothing ! " 

"  You  are  not  all  there  is  of  most  intelligent,  are  you  ? " 
said  Lettice. 

But  if  her  tongue  was  perverse,  her  eyes  were  very  soft 
—  soft  as  only  Lettice's  eyes  could  be,  always  with  a  sparkle 
in  their  sweetness ;  and  Gardiner  was  not  critical.  He  was 
far  too  much  occupied  in  making  love,  which  he  did  very 
prettily,  with  a  wealth  of  soft  Spanish  superlatives.  He 
was  drunk  with  happiness;  his  most  enterprising  dreams 
had  never  pictured  such  a  surrender. 

And  Lettice  was  happy  too.  She  knew  now,  she  had 
learned  in  the  moment  when  he  woke  with  her  name  on 
his  lips,  that  she  was  not  afraid  of  passion;  and  if  she  had 
surprised  him,  he  had  surprised  her  too.  She  had  thought 
she  understood  him  pretty  well;  but  she  knew  the  worst 
better  than  the  best,  and  the  unselfishness,  the  delicacy, 
the  almost  fantastic  chivalry  of  his  love  left  her  wondering 


SHE  ALONE  CHARMETH  MY  SADNESS     303 

and  self -reproachful.  So  it  happened  that  she  finally  sur- 
rendered the  keys  of  her  heart  (with  reserves:  there  were 
certain  chambers  which  she  really  couldn't  and  wouldn't 
unlock,  though  she  spoiled  her  Harry  in  every  other  conceiv- 
able way)  with  fewer  regrets  than  she  had  thought  possible, 
and  with  no  misgivings  at  all.  Her  mind  was  at  rest ;  she 
had  built  her  house  upon  a  rock. 

We  traveled  in  the  print  of  olden  wars, 

Yet  all  the  land  was  green, 
And  love  we  found,  and  peace, 

Where  fire  and  war  had  been. 

MARCH,  1920,  on  the  Semois. 

Strong  sunshine  and  silver  rain-storms;  the  winds  of  the 
equinox  marshaling  great  swan-white  droves  of  cloud  across 
the  blue,  the  wet  earth  sparkling  like  a  jewel.  The  hill  of  the 
crucifix  was  green,  pea-green  with  the  growth  of  young 
wheat ;  the  hill  of  woods  opposite,  still  leafless,  had  a  million 
delicate  buds,  cloud  on  cloud  of  russet,  and  bronze,  and  lilac, 
and  faint  yellow,  and  fainter  green,  softly  rounding  the  shape 
of  every  bush.  Great  oaks  detached  themselves,  gnarled 
lichen-gray  skeletons,  distinct  in  branch  and  twig,  from 
purple  hollows  of  the  woodland.  The  valley  was  a  streak 
of  emerald ;  the  river  glistened  like  thin  silver  in  the  sun. 

So  peaceful,  and  so  little  changed!  Across  the  stream 
the  bridge  lay  broken-backed,  but  sounds  of  hammering  came 
up  through  the  thin  air,  and  midget  figures  moved  about 
with  wheelbarrows,  repairing  it.  Among  the  crushed  roofs 
of  Poupehan  white  scaffolding  took  the  eye.  Farther  down 
the  valley,  where  the  woods  had  been  stripped,  and  the  Roche 
des  Corneilles  showed  bare  and  gray  on  a  bare  purple  hill- 
side, the  young  plantations  were  rising  among  the  brushwood 
in  dotted  lines  of  green.  The  orchards  of  the  Bellevue, 
brutally  hacked  down,  had  been  doctored  and  replanted,  and 
were  whitening  with  early  blossom;  and  through  their 
branches  a  quick  eye  could  discern  other  signs  of  growth  and 
restoration.  Of  the  original  Bellevue  not  one  stone  was 
left  upon  another,  but  a  new  one  was  rising  in  its  room. 


304  CONVICT  B14 

Soon,  very  soon,  the  scars  would  heal,  and  all  would  be  as  it 
had  been. 

And  O,  how  deep  the  corn 

Along  the  battlefield! 

One  change  there  was,  not  due  to  the  tide  of  war.  The 
forlorn  wooden  cross  on  the  hill-top  had  gone  :  had  given 
place  to  another,  a  lovely  thing  in  marble,  the  inspiration 
of  a  French  artist,  standing  forty  feet  high  on  its  pedestal 
of  steps.  It  had  been  put  up  by  an  English  avion,  pre- 
sumably to  commemorate  his  miraculous  escape  from  death 
on  that  very  spot,  though  the  inscription  on  the  plinth  did  not 
quite  tally  with  that  theory.  Strange  that  a  heretic  and  an 
Englishman  should  choose  to  erect  a  crucifix,  stranger  still 
to  those  who  had  known  this  Englishman  before  ;  but  times 
change,  and  men  with  them.  At  any  rate  there  stood  the 
cross;  and  Rochehaut,  if  it  could  not  understand,  was  in- 
ordinately proud  of  it.  "  Eh,  madame,  vous  allez  au  Christ, 
n'est-ce  pas?  "  said  Madame  Hasquin  of  the  farm  to  the  wife 
of  her  temporary  lodger.  "  Ah  !  c'est  beau  c.a,  savex-vous  ! 
Mettez  une  petite  priere  pour  moi,  je  vous  prie  !  " 

So  Lettice,  sitting  on  the  steps  with  a  pair  of  masculine 
socks,  as  she  had  once  sat  on  the  stones  with  the  green 
tablecloth,  added  a  prayer  for  little  murdered  Denise  (which 
was  what  Madame  meant  by  her  moi)  to  the  petition  re- 
quested by  the  cross  : 


PER   ARDUA   AD   ASTRA 
PRIEZ    POUR  ELLE 


THE  END 


. 

3? 


A    000036258    2 


